Where Angels Roam the Sea
by Mackenzie L
Summary: In 1840, 16-year-old Carlisle Cullen almost drowned at sea off the coast of Italy. He was rescued by Esme Evenson, a vampire whose beautiful face haunted him throughout his youth. Seven years later, they meet again. AU.
1. The Rescue

**Where Angels Roam the Sea**

**by Mackenzie L.**

_Welcome to my first Alternate Universe Twilight fanfic. In this story, Esme is a vampire and Carlisle is a human. Esme has been living under Volturi power in Italy during the 19th century. When she reencounters Carlisle, the mysterious young boy she saved from drowning seven years ago, she begins to question her way of life. Esme ultimately finds herself falling in love with a man she is told she can never have._

_*The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The rest of this story and any original concepts belong to me._

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><p><em><strong>Prologue:<strong>_

**The Rescue**

_Sorrento, Italy – 1840._

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><p><em>~Esme <em>

I cannot count how many paintings were made of the view from the sea cliffs at Sorrento. Myself, I had been the artist responsible for at least a dozen of them.

Just off the coast of Campania, Italy, one might often see flocks of eager young painters dragging their easels up the mountainous rocks, hoping to capture the Tyrrhenian Sea on their canvases before sunset.

If I had expected there would be so many people around, I would normally have discouraged myself from coming to this spot. But today I knew there would be no one.

A fierce storm had ripped through the coast early this morning, leaving behind a briny mess of debris. The dark clouds had rolled in long before the sun had risen, fooling many of the villagers into thinking the morning had not yet come. And so they remained, sleeping soundly in their beds, waiting out the storm as they snored, dreaming for a sunny day when they woke.

As I made my ascent up the cliffs, I was surrounded by silence. Only the restless waves crashing against the rocks and the last rough, swirling winds from the passing storm kept me company while I climbed. It was an effortless trip for me, one I'd made many times as a young girl and one I would forever make as a twenty-six-year-old woman.

I was frozen in time, just as the rocks on the edge of the cliff were. But even the rocks had hopes to one day erode into dust and be carried off into the sea. I, on the other hand, would never be dust. I would never vanish from this earth so long as I bore the curse of my kind.

And so I walked like the dead woman I was, a lonely figure on the steep cliffs at the edge of the land where no one would dare travel on such a stormy morning. It was dangerous to be on the cliffs with these kinds of winds, but even if I fell, my body would not be lost to the sea.

I was indestructible.

To many, this would be a desirable trait to possess. To me, it was a curse.

As I drew nearer and nearer to the top of the cliff, I could see the wide span of the sea peeking over at me. It was stirring wildly this morning, a threatening grayish-blue in color, and it followed no fixed rhythm. Still, I hummed along.

I stood like a statue on the very ledge of the cliff, watching over the sea from my favorite spot. From every direction below me, waves threw themselves at the mighty rocks like watery damsels would throw themselves at their lovers. Above it all, I was their silent witness. I remembered all that I saw, and I would soon see it again. Every day of my life was nearly the same as the last. I was doomed to forever follow the same, repeating pattern until the end of eternity.

I was no better than the wave who threw herself at the rock.

How I longed for a single tear to sting my eye! Just one droplet of water to cling to my lashes. It would feel so real, so raw; it would give me such peace. Sometimes I would dip my finger into a pool of water and fashion myself a false tear, just to feel that sensation of warm moisture slipping down my cheek. It was all a part of my pitiful masquerade as a human. I knew it was a lie. But inside I would always yearn for what was real.

I felt utterly naked standing on the cliffs without my easel. The townspeople would wonder what sort of fool had come up here without the intent to paint what she saw. I never cared what they thought of me, for I _was _a fool. This was one title I did not pretend for.

The wind whispered what a fool I was as I stepped ever closer to the edge of the cliff, my bare feet grazing against thick pebbles and jagged rocks. Nothing pierced my skin but the feel of loneliness.

My black skirt billowed around me like the veil of a woman in mourning. I tilted my head back and waited for the kiss of sea salt to sting my nostrils. The scent of salt had a kind of royalty about it. It was rich, fertile, inebriating – the essence of the sea. Like a faithful friend, I felt its touch, its taste, its fragrance. My lips parted as the sea's spirit-like kiss deepened, consuming my simple soul to its core.

A distant purr of thunder shook my heart. A seductive flash of lightning burned my bones.

In that moment, I wanted to dive. I wanted to surrender myself, body and soul, to the wind and ride down into the depths of that sickly blue water, to plunge myself into the icy waves. I had done it before. It had felt dangerous and beautiful, and I wanted it again.

The stormy skies overhead rumbled in approval. But I knew they would not have encouraged me if I were a human. They knew I would emerge from the waters without a scratch on me, sliding onto the sand with my lithe limbs outstretched and my long hair dark and soaking. I'm certain the sky only wanted a show.

If that were the case, then I would gladly give it.

Without a thought in my mind, I pointed my hands toward heaven and dipped my head forward, letting my body form a graceful arrow as I dove for the disturbed sea below.

The fall was exactly as I had remembered it – rushed and cold and thrilling. I felt the spray from the waves hit my face, then the sea foam enveloping my body like frigid cream, dragging me along the violent current.

I swallowed the cold, salty water and spat it back out again. It was unpleasant, but it was what I deserved, and so I did it many times. It may not have quenched my thirst, but it fed my satisfaction.

My arms reluctantly began to propel my body back towards the rocky base of the cliffs. I knew precisely which places were best for easy climbing. I knew where to head when the water flowed a certain way. I knew how to trick the current and beat out the wind. More than any other woman, I knew this part of the sea.

My torso felt stiff and my face felt numb as I swam swiftly through the turbulent waters. There was something ..._ strange _about the air this morning. Something did not quite fit with the mood. I sensed something bright in the midst of this darkness. Something sweet in the midst of the salt. Something soft and delicate lost in the hard and merciless waters.

For as much as I knew this sea, I was not familiar with the figure I then saw floating away from me, being carried by a pair of distant waves.

The tension in my body coiled tightly in my legs, making them heavier as I struggled to catch up with the mysterious shape I had seen in the mist. Thick, salty brine caked my shoulders, and the current danced violently around my dress, dragging me away from what I sought. But I fought onward, determined to see what it was that the sea so badly wanted to hide from me.

What I found was not what I had suspected.

I had collected many things floating amongst these waves in the past. Empty glass bottles, strips of driftwood, unfortunate sea creatures... but never in my life had I come across another person.

Today, the storm offered me quite an unexpected treasure.

I could not believe my eyes at first. The closer I came to the floating figure, the more details I could pick out. My eyes widened in disbelief as the pale golden gleam became hair, the round white knobs became hands, and the ghostly gray wings became the tattered remains of a sailor's shirt, clinging weakly to the arms of a lanky young boy.

At the shocking sight, I charged bravely against the current, beating down the waves that tried to overcome me. My arms flung forward to seize the helpless corpse, holding him firmly against me as I made my way back to land.

With one sure hand I gripped the familiar ledge of a rock on the base of the cliff I had jumped from. It took all my strength to lift us both out of the water, but the motion was effortless in my desperation.

I flung the poor sailor boy onto the pebbly sand on the shallow rock, ignoring the waves that continued to grapple my ankles from behind. I had dragged him to shore thinking I carried a dead weight upon my shoulder. But a single choking breath alerted me to the startling truth. The boy who now lay beneath my shadow was very much alive.

Filled with a foreign kind of energy I thought I would never again possess, I panicked and began to press firmly on the boy's chest with my hands, urging the water to recede from his lungs. I quickly remembered that my strength was a danger to this fragile human, and with effort I managed to lessen the force of my pumping rhythm.

My eyes widened as the boy's delicate blue lips opened to release a small fountain of regurgitated sea water. I jumped backwards in surprise to watch as he coughed violently for a few moments, gasping for the air that would restore his life... then he collapsed like a torn-up rag doll in the sand. The only motion in his body came from his weak but determined chest as it rose up and down in a steady rhythm, each breath sounding stronger and more wonderful to my ears.

I inched warily closer to his sleeping form, watching in wonder as jade tufts of sea grass danced around him where he lay in his bed of damp sand and pebbles. He looked so still and peaceful, even with the wind howling at him to wake. He stirred not, yet I was captivated by him. He was like a piece of artwork to my hungry eyes. I wanted nothing more than to study him, detail by exquisite detail for hours. He was an utter mystery to me, this boy I had rescued from the Tyrrhenian's rough touch.

His face was pale, as was the rest of his body. He had looked whiter than snow while on the waves, but now that he breathed air into his lungs, his face had regained a flush of faintest pink. His face still held with it a delicateness; the plumpness in his cheeks was a sure sign of his youth… yet it was contrasted by a curiously valiant jaw which promised stronger features in the future.

Above that angelic young face was a mess of unruly blond hair. The water had made it look like tarnished gold, but now as it dried it slowly took on the color of clean, cloudy sunshine. Each strand seemed to defy the wind, falling into his eyes, then being brushed away again. Everything about him looked so... young.

He could not have been more than sixteen years of age.

I smiled faintly at my fascinating discovery, marveling that I had not once yet been tempted by his blood. He had been so close to death that my instincts had overpowered me to save him rather than to drink the blood that would have been wasted.

This was not natural. I was in no way resistant to the lure of human blood. Nearly every day I drank from them to keep myself thriving. I was made to drink from innocent veins like this boy's. The temptation grew stronger and stronger the more I acknowledged these thoughts.

As I stared at his doll-like face, my control slowly slipped away, bit by bit. I watched the flush in his cheeks brighten with each breath he took, becoming more and more alive... More and more ideal for me to consume.

His blood was ... enrapturing. How could I have not noticed it before? This boy's blood was the sweetest, richest, strongest I had ever known. How I wanted it on my tongue, down my throat, in my soul...

Yet, still, I resisted.

I heard the pumping of his heart, beat by torturous beat ringing in my ears like the hooves of wild horses coming up behind me. I was in danger of being trampled, but I did not move. I only listened.

I stared hard at his sweet, sleeping face, and bravely allowed my hand to venture forth, over his chest and up to his chin. I felt the bones through his thin frame, the lovely squared curve of his jaw that didn't quite fit with the rest of that youthful face. I let my unsure fingers tremble over his dark blond lashes, brushing away the bits of salt and seaweed that had gathered on his pale skin.

"Who are you?" I whispered aloud to my sleeping victim, knowing he would not hear or answer.

I needed to know where he had come from, where he had been going, how he had ended up being tossed about the Tyrrhenian during the worst storm of the season.

It was this need that kept me from wanting to drink him dry.

Like a sign from heaven, the boy finally stirred from his stupor. My skin prickled with anticipation as his eyes slowly opened, and he looked upon my face for the first time.

In contrast to his deathly appearance, his eyes were a most lively blue, but they stirred like a sickened sea in fear.

I was eager to chase that fear away with a gentle touch from my hand. I knew it would feel like ice against his already chilled skin, but it was the only way I could think to offer him comfort.

I carefully placed my palm against his clammy cheek, felt the blood rush beneath his skin, saw the color rise in his face. That feral part of me wanted to slice his cheek with my teeth and suck the fragrant blood from his veins... But again, I resisted.

And it was a miracle that I did. This was the perfect place to take a victim. There were no witnesses to see me for what I really was, and this boy was as good as dead. I could have taken him so easily.

But I did not.

It was indeed a miracle.

"You're safe now," I whispered fiercely against the moaning wind. The boy's eyes sparkled, his heart beating like a tribal drum, and in that moment I truly believed that he understood me. His eyes moved the slightest bit from one place to another, as if searching my face for signs that I was worthy of his trust. When his eyes at last returned to lock onto mine, something in his gaze settled; the chill in his blue fire had finally warmed. His cheek leaned into my touch despite the coldness of my skin, and he stared at me with unending gratefulness in his exhausted eyes. Whether he had given his trust at my words or by my caring touch alone, I did not know.

He may not have understood Italian. He may have even been a mute.

It did not matter. I could see it in in those wild blue eyes of his – a blue so achingly naked and pure. I had spared his life when I could have so easily taken it, and it was almost as if he knew this. A subtle but overwhelming connection had been forged between our souls, and we could not seem to look away.

He was the most beautiful human I had ever encountered in my eighty-four years.

And he was the first one I had ever held in my arms.

-}0{-

I heard the voices of fishermen on the cliffs shortly after that. They spoke of how terrible the storm had been, and how they would surely find some loot that had been churned up by the waves on the bottom rocks.

What they found when they reached the bottom was a different kind of treasure, but a treasure nonetheless.

It was with a pained heart that I forced myself to hide away and listen as they picked up my poor sailor boy and took him back to their village, speculating how and when he had fallen overboard from a passing ship.

When I determined that they were safely out of sight, I slipped out of my hiding space and stood again on the edge of the sea, a lonely figure in a dark dress, watching the waves with the never-ending desire to jump.


	2. Savior and Servant

**Chapter 2:**

**Savior and Servant**

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><p><em>~Esme<em>

I have always believed that all things happen for a reason.

My life as a human had been hellish, but in hindsight I managed to pick out the few blessings that had once hid from my mortal eyes.

I was married once, in the summer of 1780, only two years before I was changed. Charles Evenson was a wealthy Englishman who promised me a lavish life, and I was a late bloom for my age – young and desperate to be the center of any man's world. It was the mere notion of marriage that had enticed me to accept Evenson's proposal. It is with some shame that I still carry his surname, for he was not the most honorable man. But neither was I the most honorable woman.

The night of my transformation, Charles and I had been on holiday in Pisa, Italy. I had ventured out against my husband's will to have my fortune told by a gypsy woman I had seen in the street. I was a reckless romantic, and I'd hoped to employ the use of white magic and have my life exchanged for another. What I received was certainly not what I had expected. But in the final irony, I _had _received precisely what I had asked for. I had exchanged my mortal life for an immortal one.

The first time I saw the sun rise in Pisa had been through a vampire's eyes.

Charles sent the city guards out to search for his wife, but they never recovered her. Before he could flee for his homeland, I paid him a visit. The late Mister Evenson was my first drink. I still often regard him as the sweetest of them all.

It seemed my life had been planned for me since the day the vampire gypsy welcomed me into her world. She took me to the Volturi, the great men and women who held the reigns on our kind. I was invited to stay with them in their city as an equal, and for their hospitality and good company, I was still grateful. But they could see that I was discontent with my life. They all knew that I wanted something more.

I soon grew tired of the life I had been given. I was restless, and yet I was weary. Before long, I came to be known as "the dark one" who roamed Volterra and the outer lands with no fixed direction to follow. I was like an empty spirit who rode the wind, seeking out a dimension that I was not sure even existed… Until the day I jumped, and I returned to shore with _him. _

That unnamed blond sailor boy had ruined me. His deep blue eyes had tainted me, destroyed my power and perfected my conscience. For years since I had pulled him ashore, I found myself unable to look a human in the eye before taking his blood. If I'd had a heart before, it did not burn or tremble or _feel _as it does now.

The others were horrified by what I had become. They had never been disappointed in me before – they never had any reason to be. But now I was a risk to their identities. I was a walking anomaly for our kind. But I possessed a power they did not have, and I knew that they secretly envied me for this. I had the power to walk amongst humans, to disguise myself in plain sight. Since I had altered my diet, my eyes had taken on a warm amber hue, a believable gaze with which I could stare freely at my fellow men.

I had heard of other vampires adhering to such a lifestyle. I knew it was possible, but I was not naïve enough to believe that it would be an enjoyable change. And it certainly was not. For the first two years it was agonizing to feed only off the blood of animals. I had slipped more than a dozen times per month; happening across the aroma of a particularly sweet-blooded human, I found that I could not resist. However, my determination to succeed came more from my pride than my conscience. The boy I had pulled from the sea had only sparked my morale to make this change. I only followed through with it because they all believed I would fail. I had to prove to them that I was not a failure. So that was what I did.

Seven years later, I still followed my new diet religiously. Each month proved more promising as I struggled to keep my teeth away from humans, but I was not perfect, and I knew it was foolish to think I ever would be.

Still, I had succeeded in what I had set out to do. I must admit that I enjoyed seeing my golden eyes in the looking glass. I enjoyed the occasional conversations I had with common folk in the streets of Rome. I enjoyed the challenge of my lifestyle. But most of all I enjoyed being different from the rest of my kind.

I could not help but relish the feeling that I possessed strength where the rest of them were weak.

-}0{-

~_Carlisle_

For centuries philosophers have fruitlessly tried to explain the countless delicate effects obsession can have on one man. In less than half a lifetime, I bested all of their greatest efforts.

Since the day she pulled me from the waters, I had been cast under her spell. So fortunate I was that she rescued me in the ripest year of my youth. Before that day I had not known the power of a woman. To whom could I compare the beguiling wonder of this mysterious maiden of the sea who had pulled me to the rocky shores of Italy's coast?

I was obsessed.

The years that escorted me into manhood were a whirling mess of intense emotional upheaval. Aside from the duties I had been given in my father's church, I was in secret turmoil over my unresolved rescue. I was raised a decent gentleman, and I knew that I had a debt to be repaid. The woman who had saved my life could have my unspoken gratitude, but this was not enough for me. Not nearly enough.

I sought out every book on mermaids, nymphs, sirens – all the legends of the sea. Each new piece of literature I uncovered on the matter further ignited my passion to identify _her _once and for all. There were nights I failed to find sleep in favor of reading another ten volumes on the myths of Roman sea goddesses. There were nights I woke in a feverish sweat, when the sheets of my bed had become waves to drown me, and my every breath was a gasp for the air that would preserve my life. I saw her face in my dreams, just a shimmering memory of her gloriously beautiful features in the instant before I woke. I longed to rake my fingers through her flowing hair, to touch her porcelain cheek the way she had touched mine so carefully...

My father was appalled by my behavior. I had been a disappointment to him since the day he found me on the doorstep of our home in England with the scent of Sorrento fisherman's ale on my clothes, mumbling incoherent apologies for my poor sailing skills. He had always known I was not meant for the sea. Yet I defied him the day of my sixteenth birthday, making my own adventure as a stowaway on a passing fishing boat. I was the town runaway, the rebellious minister's son whose return was celebrated more by the parishioners than the minister himself. It was not the first time I had run away from home, but it was certainly the last. My father had made sure of that.

As the years passed, my need to travel grew stronger against my father's will. With every demand my father made of me, I felt my soul slowly tearing to shreds. I knew I would have to break free of his overbearing hands. My shoulders were beginning to ache with the weight of all he expected of me. I needed to be a free man. I was not made to pursue life as a minister in his footsteps. That life was too cloistered, too strict. My heart was a wild one – even my father could not deny this. My face may have been a mirror to him, but it was this heart I had inherited from my mother.

At twenty-one years of age, I set my foot down. I did not have to catch as passing ship to escape this time, for I finally had my father's blessing. The old man had grown weary of my fantastical stories, of my unacceptably passionate ideas about life and men and God. I was not opposed to all I had learned as a scholar, but I was not as mindlessly accepting of tradition as the other young men around me. My mind was open, like a vast blue sea, and I sought to fill it until it was brimming with creatures of the deep.

I knew that my father had secret hopes for my traveling. He hoped that in my restless wandering throughout Europe I would wear myself down like a stub of graphite, and one day I would return to him a defeated soul in search for truth. He requested that I make use of my travels by doing missionary work, spreading the Word to the people whose paths crossed with mine. If only to preserve our good standing, I promised to convert by good example, but nothing more than that.

And so it was with a heavy heart that my father would watch me leave his home, not to cleave to a wife as he had one day hoped, but to cleave to that world that lay beyond. My youth had been locked up behind wooden doors, all except that one unforgettable week where I was cast away and rescued from the wrath of the stormy Tyrrhenian by an angel from the sea.

For three years I spent my days as a vagabond, scouring the wonders of Europe. For the first time in my life, my mind was at peace. Every day I discovered something new, and I was free to walk beside the wisest men, both the learned and the poor. The places I visited were miraculous; the people I met were even more so.

In October of 1846, I settled down in the heart of Rome, the most beautiful city I had ever stumbled upon. On the day we first met, she was bustling and bright, covered from head to toe in exquisite artwork and cool blue skies. Half of _Roma_ was in ruins – something she and I had in common. And that was why I had fallen in love with her.

I was taken under the wing of a wise old fellow by the name of Eleazar. He offered me a position as an apprentice in his apothecary, and though I accepted his offer with some reluctance, I could not deny that I was relieved to have a solid place to stay for once in three years. His daughter Irina may have had some influence on my decision to stay. Truth be told, she was a breathtaking woman... But no woman on this earth would ever cross the exquisite face of my rescuer from my mind.

An angel she was. I was convinced of it now. Every deep blue dream I had night after night seemed to confirm this. In my mind she would rise from the waves with wings of pearly lace, her face glowing and righteous, set with a mystical pair of eyes that glimmered like the deepest burgundy jewels. Her arms would wrap around me and hold me against her bosom, and I would forever belong with her in that world beyond the one I had come to know.

She was my savior, and I was her servant. Even if we would never meet again.


	3. First Night

**Chapter 3:**

**First Night**

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><p><em>~Esme<em>

Being a stubborn woman, I was not normally one to follow tradition. But when I happened to be the one who started a tradition, I was more than happy to cling to it for years to come.

For the past two years since I had grown comfortable with being in the presence of humans, I had ventured into Rome on First Night to see the New Year celebrations.

I'd listened to the people stir about it all through the month of December. They speculated about the costumes people would don, and the food that would be served, and how many glasses of wine they would down before the night was through. I was intrigued by the event, and I vowed to one day pay a visit myself. It did not matter that I had no one to go along with. If I went out at all I was almost always alone, and I rather liked it that way.

I stood on the brink of the new year with my head held high and my hopes abound. I was going to live my life tonight – debatable a term as it might be. The sky outside my chamber window was a delicious purple, simpering at me with hundreds of stars. It looked as though every star was out; not one wanted to miss the celebration tonight.

Just looking at the night sky, I felt like I was receiving a most courteous invitation to attend the festivities. Already I could hear the volume of excited voices in the nearby towns as people prepared to make their way into Pisa for the local celebrations. I had spent the holiday several times before in Pisa, but it had not compared with the grandeur of Roma.

Luckily for me, it was a cinch to travel on foot into Rome. Where humans would be forced to pack their carriages at dawn to reach the great city, I could make the trip in roughly twenty minutes at my supernatural speed.

There were some very delightful advantages to being a vampire.

For the event, Jane had chosen for me a lavish dress of midnight blue satin which she confessed to me she had longed to one day wear herself.

"I do not have the figure for such a dress," she murmured morosely as she fingered the cool blue fabric, her eyes dank with longing. "I will never be able to wear clothes like this, for I will never be a woman."

Jane was known amongst the Volturi for being the most melodramatic about circumstances that did not please her. Yet, she said the word "woman" with such delicate emphasis – an aching desire for something that had been promised to her at birth, which was now something she would never possess.

Poor Jane was cursed to forever roam the world in a young girl's body.

"This is why I must hate all women," she added snobbily, turning her nose up and returning to her dainty tone of indifference.

I frowned at myself in the mirror, letting a momentary wave of guilt wash through me. I had hoped not to make a scene of myself, but I couldn't deny that a part of me enjoyed making Jane jealous.

She was too young to attend the festivities of First Night. The people in the city would jeer at her to leave if they saw a child amongst the crowd. It must have been frustrating for her, as a powerful vampire, to know that her age was an ever-present barrier for her. It kept her from enjoying her life as fully as the rest of us did, though age was something we often took for granted.

I watched from the corner of my eye as Jane ghosted out of the room with her nose in the air, leaving me to admire myself in the mirror.

Once I had finished adding the pins to my hair and painting my lips, I went downstairs to the hall to show off my dress to the others. I endured the usual lustful stares from Felix, the vampire who I most enjoyed tormenting with my charms. He was convinced that one day I would be his mate, but I was fixed on ensuring he was unsuccessful in that particular endeavor. He uttered his most suggestive remarks with his eyes, but I happily ignored them whilst making sure he had an excellent view of my bared back as I turned around.

Sulpicia was predictably the most enthusiastic about my visiting Rome for First Night. I had always found her to be the most supportive of me, and the most genuine – she regarded me as something of a daughter and often went out of her way to ensure my comfort and happiness. She sent a pleased smile in my direction when I shared the news of my departure that evening. The rest of the vampires present in the room were either amused or indifferent, which was precisely what I had expected of them. Aro, on the other hand, seemed even more friendly toward me than usual tonight.

He offered me a glass of warm human blood from his brothers' latest feed before I left, claiming that I would need all the help I could get if I were to remain faithful to my challenging diet. Knowing I would be in the presence of hundreds of energetic humans that night, I decided it would be wise to accept his offer.

Thanks to my coven members, I had such easy access to human blood. If I so desired, I could sip from their victims when I felt my control waning. It was a way to refresh myself, a way to help me stay steady on my chosen path. Drinking only the blood of animals may have proved an impossible feat for me had I not allowed myself that occasional taste of human's blood.

It was a great help to me, but it also made me feel as if I were cheating at my chosen lifestyle. Sometimes I wondered if I were too weak to ever fully commit. It made me upset, but it was usually the least of my worries when I thought of my future. I had an eternity to perfect my control. What was the harm in taking a few sips of human blood every week or so?

Aro smiled gleefully when I finished my drink. He wished me luck, and his wife came up to embrace me before I left.

"Enjoy yourself, my dear," she said into my ear. I could hear her excitement for me, and it only made me even more anxious for the night to begin.

-}0{-

Like a sly fruit bat, I quietly made my way through the vast countryside and various cities on the way to Rome. I went enviably faster than the humans who traveled by carriage, using tunnels and dark alleys that no one else could access in the night. I slinked through the forests and streets of each region I passed through, looking like nothing more than a flash of midnight blue silk under each passing shadow. My powers were truly remarkable in the night.

The light from distant street lamps and the sound of celebratory chaos grew stronger as I crossed swiftly into the Lazio region. As I sped and swirled into shadows and vacant streets, I felt the city form around me, each building I passed growing taller as I came nearer to the heart of Rome. I grinned when I at last came into the Piazza Navona, the familiar sight of sparkling lanterns and costumed men and women bringing back memories from the previous year.

I'd had quite a wonderful time last year when I came to Rome for First Night. I had a feeling that this night would be even better.

I allowed myself to be consumed by the fragrant crowd. Everyone was thrumming with excitement, and their enthusiasm was contagious even for me. I was relieved that I had taken Aro's advice to drink the extra goblet of blood before leaving the palace. It would have been quite difficult to be so close to everyone if I'd been even the slightest bit thirstier.

Despite my perfect memory, I always seemed to forget how challenging it was to resist the scent of their blood. It was one thing to spend a few hours around one or two humans while not in such a confined space. But to spend an entire night around hundreds of humans in the center of the city was quite another.

With each year resistance came easier for me, but tonight I guessed there must have been a few exceptionally intoxicating folk present. The air was cloyingly sweet, and it most certainly was not coming from the sugared pastries they were serving on the side of the street.

I walked through the crowds aimlessly, enjoying the many ludicrous sights whilst dodging spontaneous showers of confetti as I made my way through the quarter.

I also enjoyed many a male's hypnotized stare. It was the main reason I came to these events without a mask or overdone costume. I preferred to be seen in all of my natural splendor. I'd caught a brief reflection of myself in the quarter fountain, and I had to admit, I looked breathtaking. Jane would be happy to know just how much attention her choice of dress had earned me tonight.

And it wasn't even midnight yet.

The dark night was made brighter by the lights of hundreds of lanterns that hung from the buildings and overlooking balconies. As the minutes passed, the Piazza grew brighter yet, as did the tremendous heat from the masses of people gathering together for the event. Around me people cried out exclamations for the blessed new year, and others chimed in. When a particularly rowdy young man began to chant and sing, nearly forty others joined him, making an admirable display of patriotism to spite their sensitivity to wine.

A lopsided smirk found my face, but I did nothing more than lift a quick hand to hide my amusement as I sought out a more peaceful area of the street.

I admired the many colorful costumes, dancers, and mimes that passed my way. I stopped to watch a street magician pull a white rabbit from his top hat, and I cringed at the smell of freshly cooked foods that I'm sure made the humans salivate.

I was about to cross into the blocked off side of the Piazza when, out of the crowd, a single man stood out to me. He wore a mask that covered less of his face than the others' did, exposing much more of his jaw and forehead than was custom. His mask was not elaborate like the rest of the fools around him – it was made of thin, simple black fabric, like a scrap a bandit might wear to keep from being recognized.

I suppose I found it curious that he had no jewels or glitz about his person. He wore a high-collared velvet black waistcoat over sea-colored trousers and black boots. On his hands he wore a pair of elegant black leather gloves, and on his head was a black fedora, which concealed the color of his hair. When he turned the slightest bit, the froth of a lacy white cravat touched his chin. He was tall and had perfect posture, something I did not come to expect from many of the men who attended city carnivals.

I had only a glimpse of him before he slipped between a pair of masked fiends and disappeared into the rest of the crowd. Insane as it was, I felt the desperate need to follow him, to never let him out of my sight. I could not pinpoint what about this man had intrigued me to stalk him, but I was not about to question my own desire. I always did what I wanted, and what I wanted right now was to know more about this man.

I was drawn to him as the tide was drawn to the moon.

I watched him obsessively throughout the evening, learning everything about him that I could from simple observation.

He made conversation with several people as he passed them, most likely wishing them a blessed new year. I could not pinpoint his voice for the place was far too crowded and full of clashing sounds.

He walked along with the crowd, not against it. He was wise to follow the flow, circling the area discreetly as a bird would circle the land for easy prey. He stopped to admire a pair of young ladies in elaborate dresses like mine. One wore a mask that resembled a peacock, and the other was unmasked, but her face had been painted with a shimmery makeup that made her skin look to be covered in a sheen of frost. They touched their necks with delicate fingers and looked away from the mysterious man, their lips moving hastily in response to his offered compliments on their costumes. I felt a light torch of jealousy inflame my chest at the sight, but it did little to discourage my observations of him.

He touched people gently on the shoulder if he wanted to pass them.

He flinched the tiniest bit every time someone burst a cap of confetti nearby.

He did not toss his head back when he laughed as the men around him did.

He was different in every possible way from every other person who crossed his path. Yet he seemed to blend in seamlessly with the rest of the crowd, proving a danger to me should I accidentally lose sight of him.

I did not let that happen.

I watched intently as he found company with a few other masked fellows and followed them to the corner of the square where food was being served.

I noticed that he did not drink as much wine as the others, that he preferred well-cooked meats to rare, and the sweet honey-bread rather than the plain kind with thicker crust. He left the brittle crusts of this bread on the edge of his plate, and I was tempted to take those crusts and kiss them, so that my mouth would be where his was.

He was indeed no vampire, yet I was enthralled by the grace of his strong, shapely hands as he removed his gloves to eat. I noted the meticulous way he wiped his fingers on a cloth after each bite, unlike the others at his table who were less fastidious and rubbed their hands clean on their tunics instead.

I saw that every move he made was careful, deliberate – even in the way his jaw moved as he chewed and drank from his goblet. He had a preciseness of motion that I found somehow... enticing.

I had lusted after a modest number of men in my long life, not one of whom had been human. This man, however, captured my more sensitive attention in a way no man before ever had. And I hadn't even seen his face.

I was almost disgusted by myself, but at the same time I was stubbornly proud. I knew no other vampire woman would allow the thought of a human man to cross her mind. This made me special. This made me unique. This made me a rule-breaker.

I smiled impishly to myself and pretended to sip my wine. The scent was more bitter than the cheapest perfume, aching in my nostrils, but I was too distracted to be repulsed by it.

Somewhere behind me, a grand uproar of music began to play. The heated rhythm of drums, and the twitter of flutes, and the strum of lyres seduced the crowds toward the source of the music where a band of musicians was playing beside the central fountain.

I held my own against a storm of confetti and feathers, fighting the current of the people who pushed past me in frenzied search for a dance partner.

I knew that this would be my chance to introduce myself to the graceful bandit who had unwittingly captured my interest.

I could still see him where he lingered by the wine station, swirling his half-empty goblet as his eyes passed broodingly over his newly drunken counterparts. This man had clearly never spent _Prima Notte _in Rome before.

To my extreme displeasure I soon found myself repeatedly dodging the advances of a foul-breathed old geezer in green. I spat at him to leave me alone in all forms of Italian I could think of, but he continued to stubbornly hook his fingers into my dress and laugh like a drunken little leprechaun.

Sensing I had an emergency on my hands, I resorted to using my advantageous speed to make an escape. I shamelessly snatched someone's discarded mask from the ground before I braved turning around. Perhaps revealing my face around all of these drunken men was not such a brilliant way to spend my night if I did not desire their flirtatious advances.

Safely covered by my new mask, I weaved my way through the fumbling bystanders to approach my man of mystery.

That was when I caught the scent.

It was not the scent of wine, or the crisp night air, or the fire from the torches, or the spices wafting from the cooking food.

It was sweeter than honey, more potent than wine. Mythically speaking, it was the ambrosia of the gods. And _by God_, was it strong – so strong that I felt my knees buckle ever so slightly as I took in a breath. All I knew was that I had discovered the reason for why the air had felt so different on this night than it had in the past.

This was one scent I had never forgotten, and it was polluting the entire Piazza like a merciless wildfire through an arid forest.

I warily approached the source of the scent, stunned that as I singled it out, I stepped closer and closer to my beguiling bandit.

_It could not be..._

His eyes tore away from his empty goblet to land on my face.

The last time I'd seen that soul-stirring blue was exactly seven years ago, on the shores of Sorrento's sea cliffs in Campania.

Between the poorly cut holes of his bandit mask, the blue of his eyes was stark and piercing against the black. I would have recognized that gaze anywhere, even in the depths of the darkest shadow. There was no other match in this world for that brilliantly wild blue.

Though neither of us exposed much more than our eyes, we could not seem to look away from each other. It was just as it had been the day I had rescued him. Our gazes were locked in a frighteningly tight bond, pulling all the energy of the universe into one vivid stare.

It appeared we were both smitten.

I was burning to see his face again, wondering what he would look like now that he was a man. Aside from his eyes, his exposed jaw was the most familiar part of his face – a part that had seemed so out of place seven years ago. No doubt it complemented the rest of his features seamlessly now... Oh, how I ached to see him unmasked... Just to be fully and completely certain that it was _him. _

I knew deep down that he could not have recognized _me. _With so little to go by it would have been impossible. My eyes were not the same color they had been seven years ago, and even if they had been, my mask would have covered quite enough to keep him from knowing it was me. That is, if he even remembered me at all…

I was not close enough to start a conversation with him, but it was clear that we had both connected despite our distance. Our eyes lingered on each other as the crowds around us seemed to melt and swirl into a glittering, abstract mass.

I expected that I would be the first to initiate our greeting, but he surprised me by taking one careful step forward, acknowledging my presence in the simplest of manners. As if to emphasize his interest, he immediately set his goblet down to politely remove his hat and gloves.

The moment I saw that full head of luscious blond hair, I knew.

If it was not confirmed before, it certainly was now.

This man was the boy I had rescued.

"Buona sera, Senorina," he said. After years of wondering what it would sound like, I relished the gentle timbre of his voice for the first time, just as I cursed our raucous surroundings for drowning out his words.

His Italian was smooth but mottled by a delicate accent that suggested an Englishman's tongue.

I smiled forgivingly, and though it may have been presumptuous on my part, I spoke my next words in English.

"Is this your first time celebrating _Prima Notte _in the city?"

My heart mirrored his expression of relief.

"Yes, it is," he confessed in comfortable English, an alluring pair of dimples appearing in his cheeks. "Can you tell?"

I nodded with a smirk. "You have only taken one goblet this evening."

He laughed sheepishly before a look of slight confusion passed over his face. "How do you know that?"

"I've been watching you," I mentioned offhandedly, savoring the satisfying way his forehead flexed in puzzlement and his heartbeat raised steadily.

"You have?" he wondered, his voice softening as if we had to keep secrets in this crowd. He looked positively electrified.

I nodded again and could not contain the wayward giggle that burst from my lips. I twisted a finger coyly around my hair and turned away from him, knowing he would follow me as I drew him into the mass of people.

Thinking it might be wildly entertaining to spend the rest of the night with him if he were slurring his pretty English speech, I led him conveniently to the wine station on the other side of the square.

"Can I interest you in another _vino rosso_?" I asked as I mounted my elbow on the barrel tap. The warm red liquid that leaked into the cup tempted me with the reminder of blood, and I felt my stomach tighten in appeal.

He winced. "Not likely. I barely finished the last one."

"Then we must break you in," I teased, stuffing a full goblet into his hand.

He smirked at me for a long moment, then leaned across my shoulder to pour all the wine into the fountain behind me. His crippling scent consumed me from head to toe, an exquisite stampede of delicious particles that emanated from his body. He was too close.

I ducked away in the guise of being playful and held my breath for a moment to regain my balance. He advanced on me easily, stalking his prey with disarming grace. As he came to stand in front of me again, I realized he had trapped me against the edge of the fountain with nowhere to turn. The water beat down behind us as he continued to stare at me with an awestruck smile on his face. He placed his empty goblet on the rim of the fountain and moved his hand to his hip.

"What is your name?" he asked me, his voice dropping one delicious octave.

"Aphrodite," I replied freshly.

His chest shook with a hearty laugh – an alarmingly beautiful sound that caused several heads to turn. "Your _real _name, Senorina."

I flipped my hair coolly across my shoulder, minding my mask. "As far as you are concerned, sir, that _is _my real name."

He pouted. "Why do you not want to tell me?"

I shrugged as I nervously picked at the decorative sequins of my mask, hoping he would let the subject go. "There is something intriguing about a nameless woman, is there not?"

"It wouldn't keep me from wanting to know you better," he assured. Though I was flattered, I did not show it... only because I was wearing a mask.

I feigned indifference, turning my cheek to him.

Then he asked, "You don't want to know _my_ name?" He sounded vaguely disappointed and even a little hurt.

"No," I blurted, far quicker than I'd intended. More calmly, I added, "It's better I don't."

He looked a bit surprised but he didn't dare question me further on the matter. I had a way of looking very dangerous when asked the wrong questions.

I changed the subject swiftly, brightly asking if he had ever considered viewing the Piazza from one of the rooftops surrounding us.

I barely gave him time to answer before I grabbed hold of his hand and began to drag him through the crowd towards the darker, unoccupied streets on the perimeter of the square.

His hand in mine was sinfully warm. It took all my control not to bring that hand up to my mouth and graze my teeth against his knuckles for just a taste...

I could hear his puzzled laughter behind me as we escaped the crowds into darkness, and it reminded me just how precious his exuberance and lively energy were to me. I did not want to destroy that; I wanted to savor it. After all, it was by my doing that he was still in this world today.

I was surprising myself with every step I took by his side. I was having... fun. Nothing less than this. No worries, no distress, no fear that I would slip. True, my thirst was nagging me the more I dared to breathe in the exquisite scent of this man's blood, but it was not out of my control. _Nothing _was out of my control, I thought firmly, and I began to believe it.

It seemed preposterous that I could merely appreciate his scent, but somehow I was doing just that. His company was so enjoyable and entertaining that any time I came close to fantasizing about biting him, I struck the thought like a bolt of lightning strikes an open field.

Spurred by my success, I picked up my pace with a smile and guided him to a hidden staircase that had been chained off in the alley.

"Won't we get caught?" he asked worriedly, hesitating in the shadowy stairwell behind me.

My laughter echoed eerily in the confined space, encouraging him to follow me against his better judgment, as if in a trance. I heard his sturdy footsteps behind me, pounding against the stone steps, gaining on me. His breathing was fast and excited, and it made me yearn for the days when I could become breathless as well.

Feeling suddenly vulnerable as I reached the end of the encased stairwell, I stepped onto the wide railing of the building's outdoor balcony and hoisted myself up onto the rooftop.

"Do be careful, Senorina!" his voice hissed from behind me. I heard his startled gasp, and a moment later felt his hand on the small of my back, hot and solid. I responded to his unexpected touch of support with a gasp of my own, and allowed him to aid me the rest of the way up though I did not need his help.

He pulled himself up onto the roof after me, his abundant blond hair tumbling into his face as he struggled to break free of gravity's grip.

Once we were both safely on the roof, we stood for a few moments beside each other, staring down at the tiny dots of people in the Piazza from our bird's eye perspective. The view was even more fantastic than I'd remembered it being last year... perhaps because I now shared it with another.

My eyes shifted stealthily to the handsome man I'd kidnapped, watching his awestruck expression as he took in the amazing scene. I smiled in satisfaction, knowing I had offered him a view no other man would share tonight. This rooftop was our private mountain where we could reign in secret over the celebration beneath us.

"It is...incredible," he murmured, his watery eyes reflecting lovely spots of gold from the roaming lanterns. "I shall never be content to watch such a scene from the streets again," he added with a breathless chuckle.

My smile softened fondly as I moved closer to him, braving the lure of his bountiful blood.

"It does feel very... special up here, doesn't it?" I asked, resisting the temptation to lay my head down on his shoulder.

His eyes were glazed in amazement, and the way his soft lips had fallen open at the sight made him look appealingly humble and somehow even more attractive.

"I feel... a bit dizzy," he confessed, and I suddenly noticed that his legs wavered the tiniest bit as he moved his hand discreetly to the back of his head.

I couldn't help smiling at how very human he was.

Seizing the excuse to touch him, I immediately grabbed hold of his forearm and guided him down beside me on the shingled slope. "Why don't we just sit down here for a while..."

I could nearly feel his blood racing beneath the thick velvet sleeve of his jacket as he settled down next to me. His skin burned beneath the fabric, just as his hand had burned my own when I held it. Everything about this man was burning me slowly, deftly – even his eyes.

Still holding his arm between my hands, I scooted as close as I could to him without making any further contact. His scent was frightfully distracting, but at this distance, his face proved just as great a distraction to me. His skin appeared deliciously smooth, peppered with those fascinating little blemishes that only a human's face could possess. There were tiny, almost invisible hairs on the curve of his chin where a beard threatened to grow if not groomed daily, and there was a soft brown birthmark on the underside of his strong jaw, which reminded me of the way a damp spot looked on clean canvas. His lips were small but full and invitingly soft, set perfectly beneath the defined tip of his nose… And now his cheeks were smeared with that appealing apricot hue of having just been embarrassed, yet I could not guess the precise cause of it.

"You made this mask yourself," I assumed, gingerly picking the frayed end of the bandit strip he wore across his eyes. It was mostly an excuse for the chance to touch his face, but my fingers fell away unsatisfied.

He chuckled wearily as he tugged the end of his makeshift mask, and for a brief moment my heart gave a jolt, thinking the dark strip of fabric would come loose and reveal his face. But he adjusted it hastily so that it was firmly in place.

"It was a part of the priestly vestments my father left me," he explained casually. A fleeting, bitter look crossed his face. "I finally decided to make use of them."

"Your father was a priest?"

"_Is _a priest," he corrected. "He's still head of our church back in London," he added with a small jerk of his head toward the North. "I have not spoken to him in years."

"You don't even write to him?" I asked in surprise.

He shrugged in chagrin. "I never know what to say. He will be disappointed to hear about whatever it is I am doing ...unless it involves becoming a minister."

I crinkled my forehead in pity. "Is that why you ran away?"

His eyes shot sharply to my face. "I did not run away..."

I swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. It only sounded that way."

A heavy sigh left his lips. "I suppose I'm not very good at hiding my regret." His jaw tightened stiffly as he looked away.

"If you regret leaving your father, why don't you return to him?"

Oh, my curiosity was ridiculous... I should not have given a single care to how this man lived his life, and yet here I was, thirsting to hear every detail of his past.

"I don't feel as if I can face him again, after everything I've done," he whispered shamefully. "Sometimes I imagine what would happen if I did return... how he would react to my homecoming..." His eyes lifted to stare blankly at an empty spot of air, no doubt envisioning the very scene he'd just described in his mind. "He wanted me at the very least to become a missionary. But I've not even done that."

I smiled – my deviously disturbing vampire smile. I tried to hide it from him before he could catch a glimpse, but I was too late.

"Why do you smile in that way?" he asked, not sounding as offended as I'd feared.

"I can picture you as a missionary, oddly enough," I said honestly.

Something in his eyes twinkled as he smiled faintly. "Can you?"

I nodded. "You have a certain... gentleness about you."

I bit my lip shyly – this gesture was something I normally fabricated, but this time I was shocked to find that it had been entirely instinctive.

I was turning into a damned coquette.

He looked amused, then replied in a quiet voice, "You are not the first to tell me so." Something in his expression still appeared regretful, but I could not understand why.

"I mean it as a compliment," I said just as softly, searching his eyes to find my sincerity reflected back at me.

"Thank you, Senorina," he whispered.

A pang grazed my dead heart as his pulse quickened in response to my smile. I was used to having such an effect on men, yet with this particular man I felt as if my power to hear his every reaction was truly an invasion of his privacy. For the first time ever, I felt _guilty _about my vampiric abilities. Though he was blissfully unaware of my eavesdropping on his internal organs, I sought to make it up to him.

"I know that I must have little influence in the matter, but I believe your father should be proud to have a son like you," I said, my voice quiet but my words bold.

He looked at me with a face full of doubt, yet even behind his sparse mask I could see a tint of hope in his expression as well.

"Well, if my father knew I was in the land of the Catholics, he would surely take a bullet to the foot," he retorted bluntly, a slight smirk curving on his lips.

"It was the land of the _Pagans_ before it was the land of the Catholics," I reminded him with a wink.

He laughed robustly. "Even better."

Above us, an abrupt explosion of fireworks began to whistle and crackle in the sky, earning an enthusiastic applause from the crowd below. As the bright flashes of colorful light splashed across my face, I began to grow self-conscious, a most foreign feeling for me.

I knew that my mask would safely cover all recognizable features of my face, yet I could not help but wonder what would happen if I unveiled myself to him. Would he recognize me as I had so promptly recognized him by his face? He did not have a flawless memory as I did, but would his memory be keen enough to recall a woman as preposterously beautiful as I?

Surely he _must _have remembered his miraculous rescue from the sea. A man does not easily forget such an event from his past. This man, I knew, was not the kind of man to take that sort of experience lightly. I had already discovered from short but meaningful conversation with him that he possessed a great sensitivity toward life's many curves and whispers.

I wished that he could know who I was as I knew him; that he could complete the other half of our strange bond and help me to rekindle it as only he knew how.

My fingers twiddled with the urge to remove my stolen mask and reveal my face to him. But a shameful, secret part of me feared that if I did, he would _not _recognize me... and my fear for this outcome, as irrational as it may have been, discouraged me from taking that risk.

"Your eyes are fascinating," I heard him say suddenly, his voice a husky murmur, as if he were just roused from a consuming daydream. I looked up to find his stare intently fixed upon my face. His eyes blinked quickly, and a fair flush painted his firm cheeks. "I beg your pardon, it's just that I've never seen anyone with eyes like yours before."

My arms tingled and my toes twitched happily inside my shoes.

"Likewise," I whispered before I could stop myself.

Again, the same electrified expression crossed his face, his lips hanging open slightly and his blue eyes thirsty with wonder. I could hear the sensual thump of his heart beating, so close that I could feel its echo in my own breast.

He was so full of life, so warm, so deliciously human. I was somehow both soothed and aroused by the kind, gentle blue of his gaze. His eyes had a charming innocence about them which lit a fire deep within the pit of my stomach.

A small surge of fear trembled in my throat as I noticed him leaning slightly closer.

"Senorina, I dearly want to see your face before the night is over," he whispered, his voice impressively seductive for a human. I felt my skin prickle beneath the satin of my dress as he lifted his fingers to tuck a tendril of hair behind my ear, purposefully grazing the edge of my mask as he did so. "Would you be so kind?"

At the intimacy in his touch, I was startled from my stupor. All at once, everything I'd done that evening caught up to me and seized me around the neck. I'd been so overcome by the excitement of the night I had nearly forgotten that although this man was human, I was _not_.

I could not see this man again. _What danger I would put him in_... and after I'd gone through so much to save him.

It was because of _me_ that he was here tonight, with breathing lungs and a beating heart, healthy and alive. I could not be the one to take that away from him. It would be unfair to him, and so, so selfish of me.

His fingers pressed a bit more firmly against the ribbon that held my mask in place and I felt the fabric slip slightly against my cheek.

"I...I don't...think so..." I stuttered, unfamiliar with this feeling of being at a loss for words. I was completely caught off guard, flustered and panicked at the suggestive hope in his eyes.

I shifted towards the edge of the roof, backing slowly away from him on my hands and feet as my long dress dragged heavily around me.

He mistook my uncertainty for flirtatiousness and smiled like a cat at my retreat. His body moved closer to mine, bombarding me with an oppressive, fragrant heat.

"Have I not shared with you many secrets of my own this evening?" he asked as if making a bargain. "I think I deserve something small in return."

One of his hands buried itself in the silky train of my dress, pinning it in place to keep me from going too far.

"Ohh…" I whimpered, realizing that as a "human" woman, I would be trapped. To escape with ease now would prove too suspicious. I was about to start attacking his hand to let me go when he suddenly made the most alluring offer I could have hoped for.

"I will show you _my_ face…"

_Dear God, do not let him…_

My eyes spread as wide as saucers as I watched him smoothly tug the bandit mask free from his eyes. I gasped and forced my gaze to tear away from him as the black strip of fabric wilted onto his shoulder, and he stared at me with an utterly naked face.

In the dim light all I'd caught was the flash of fair, sun-kissed skin, the quick definition of an angled nose and brow, and the proud contrast of two bright blue eyes staring back at me from the center of it all.

But my eyes were now closed, and I would _not _allow myself to see any more than I already had. I knew myself too well. If I let myself study every last detail of his face, I would be even more tempted to stay with him. _Oh, I could not even spare him another glimpse! _

He obviously wondered why I kept my eyes closed. Most likely he thought I had dragged him into some sort of flirtatious game. I heard his deep, gentle laughter, the pleased tone of his voice as he commanded me to open my eyes and look at his face. But I refused.

"If you will not look at _me_, the least you can do is offer me a glimpse of _your _face, don't you agree?"

I shook my head fervently, eyes still tightly shut as the fireworks taunted me with flashes of bright light overhead.

"Please, Senorina..." he begged, his voice growing rough on the edges. "You must reveal yourself to me, or I shall lie awake all night wondering what beauty hid beneath this mask..."

I gasped at the surge of sweet blood that filled his cheeks as he blushed in response to the boldness of his own words. His vigorous, masculine heartbeat was knocking firmly on the door of my self-control, and I felt about to burst.

He reached out to me imploringly, and I expertly dodged his outstretched fingers. With a mighty tug, I yanked my dress out from under his hand and slipped gracefully off the edge of the roof to land on the balcony below.

"Wait! Please!" His pleading cry was followed by the rustle of panicked limbs as he gathered himself up, preparing for a chase.

On my way out of the stairwell, I slowed down purposefully, knowing it was wrong. I would only hurt him more the longer I stayed in his presence. Every moment he stood by my side he was at risk... But I secretly wanted him to gain on me. And against my better judgment, I let him do just that.

I heard the metal chains shiver on the blocked stairwell as he struggled to step over them, his footsteps so heavy they echoed off every wall in the vacant street.

"Wait! Will you be at the feast of the Epiphany at the end of the week?" he called out desperately, trying to procure a shred of hope that we would meet again soon. But he would not get such a shred from me, and it broke my heart that I had to leave him in such abrupt silence.

I realized with some surprise that he had stopped chasing after me, and at such a fair distance I thought it safe to pause before I left him behind forever.

"At least allow me to know your name!" he tried one last time, to trick me into giving the one vital piece of information that he assumed would ensure a second meeting between us.

I knew that there was no possible way for him to find me by my first name alone. Even if I'd held residence in Rome, as I assumed he did, he would be running his luck to seek me out in such a vast city...

But knowing this might have been my very last moment with the boy I had rescued seven years ago sent my heart into panic. The little time we'd spent together had been nothing short of incredible, but I had seen what I had longed to see for all of those seven years. That the boy I'd rescued had indeed grown to become a man – a stirring, captivating, beautiful man. Knowing this was enough to keep me content for the rest of my life on this earth. These few hours I had spent with him, admiring his face, and listening to his voice, and resisting his blood had been enough to brighten my bleak eternity.

I knew that it would be enough for _me_. But for him, it would never be enough. I could hear it in the frantic thump of his galloping heart.

I was feeling so wild on this night – wilder than that endless blue of his startling young eyes.

Just before I left him, I turned to catch his blazing gaze across the empty black street.

"My name is Esme."

And I picked up my skirts and ran for the shadow's beckoning arms.

* * *

><p><strong>Not to worry, I have a feeling that Esme won't be able to keep away from her "all grown-up sailor boy" for long. ;)<strong>

**So what did you think of their pre-destined encounter?  
><strong>


	4. An Unexpected Visit

**Chapter 4:**

**An Unexpected Visit**

* * *

><p><em>~Carlisle<em>

I had been tempted by many a beautiful woman in my life, but none had plagued me so much as the mysterious young coquette I had encountered on First Night in Rome.

As I had feared, I did indeed lie awake all night wondering about what she had kept hidden from me behind that mask. I tossed and turned in frustration as I dreamed up every possibility, each more stunning than the last. Yet not one was enough to satisfy my curiosity, which burned inside of my chest like a rebellious fire. My body heated at the memories of her cool, beckoning touch...her sweet, floral scent...her flirtatious amber eyes...her smooth, sultry voice. Even surrounded by a sea of drunken strangers, something about her presence had been so comforting... even familiar.

_Esme_.

Even her name was beautiful. It was exotic in that it was of French origin, and not Italian. I'd met many lovely women since I'd moved to Rome, but all of them save for the apothecary's daughter, Irina, were raven-haired and tan-skinned. Myself I had been born with a pallor quite common to my British heritage, but this young woman named Esme had been paler than snow. Her hair was fair as well, with long, natural curls the color of warm honey. In the words of Romeo, she was like a beautiful white dove amongst crows.

My eyes had not strayed from her the entire night. She had been captivating in so many dangerous and wonderful ways, seeming to drag me around with an invisible chain which linked our wrists. All I could do was follow her wherever she went. It pained me that our night had to come to an end so abruptly, for I very much would have liked to watch the sun rise over the Piazza from the rooftop with her by my side.

If she did live in Italy, she must have come from the North. My heart sank when I thought of how far away she might be right now...

She had given me her name, and that was all. It was not nearly enough to help me seek her out in this overpopulated city, but with God as my witness, this did not stop me from trying.

Every night during the week between First Night and the Feast of the Epiphany, I tried searching for her in the city. I went from door to door, stumbling into small shops, peering into the windows of storefronts around the Piazza where I thought she might be. But I found not a trace of her anywhere, and no one in the city seemed to know her name.

Not one Esme in the entire city of Rome? Surely this was a mass conspiracy on the part of the Roman citizens organized to torment me! I did not imagine the woman out of thin air. She was real... She had to be.

And I would find her if I had to search everywhere from the rooftops to the sewers.

Each night after a long day of apprenticeship chores, I went out to search for her in the city. I tried new places, I came back to old places. I asked every man, woman, and child if they knew the beautiful young woman who went by the name of _Esme_. But for all my searching, I had not a shard of proof that she had in fact ever existed. I felt like a foolish fisherman, casting my line countless times with the hope to catch a bird from the sea.

Perhaps it could not be done because she did not belong here after all.

She did not live in Rome.

The thought had occurred to me dozens of times, but I could not accept it. In the back of my mind there was still the ridiculous hope that she would turn up again in a most unexpected place.

And so I went out every night to continue my fruitless search. When I came back at the end of the evening, my feet were worn from the miles I had walked, and my heart was thudding from exhaustion. A little bit of hope drained from me each time I came back to my place of dwelling after another unsuccessful treck through the city.

I would return to my cot, collapse on the quilt, and dream of her.

My dreams were confusing. Sometimes vivid, sometimes vague. My slumber was rarely deep, often fitful. I woke in the middle of the night with heat in my heart and cold sweat on my brow.

One night I dreamed that I had found her in the city. She had been lurking near the old woman's flower cart near the Trevi Fountain. When I woke up that morning, that was the first place I searched. Never had I been more disappointed to wake up and find that my dream had not come true.

One night I dreamed that I attended a grand ball in some unfamiliar palace. I could sense that her presence was among the crowd somewhere, but I could not find her face.

A river of champagne splashed in the crystal flutes as I stumbled my way through sea of women's bare shoulders, bare backs, and barely covered bosoms. Overhead, the crystals of the chandeliers played and glistened, lighting up the eyes of dashing looking men with hunger and desire. Lace, diamonds, feathers, silk, and jewels – all waltzed and swirled around me, pulling me into a heavy vortex that gravitated rapidly around the center of the room.

Blond locks, blue eyes, black curls, green eyes, tresses, powdered cheeks, rouge lips, curving necks were everywhere – swirling, twirling, twisting. I felt dizzy and frustrated, searching for her everywhere but never finding her sunlit amber eyes.

I woke from this nightmare feeling breathless, sick, and very near to dehydration, as if I had truly been pushing my way through a dense crowd of waltzing couples.

Still groggy with the effects of my unsatisfying slumber, I lifted myself from my bed and quickly slipped a shirt over my shoulders before leaving my room. I headed downstairs blindly in the dark to find a pitcher of water that I could drink.

My mouth was painfully dry, spurring me to search faster, but like all things I searched for these days, I could never find what I sought.

"Is this what you were looking for?" A quiet, female voice asked from the shadows.

I whipped around, startled to find Irina's lovely face in the door behind me. Squinting my eyes, I was able to make out the fat pitcher of water she held in her hands.

"Irina," I rasped, clearing my throat of sleep. "Why are you awake at such a late hour?"

"You were talking in your sleep," she said with a perplexed frown. "I was concerned. After hearing you, I couldn't seem to fall back asleep."

She looked down shyly, and I bit my lip in shame. "I am sorry for waking you."

"It wasn't your fault. I don't seem to need much sleep at night anyway," she said, her eyes brightening even as her voice remained hushed. Her gaze flickered from my lips to the pitcher of water she still held. "Please, drink something. You must be parched."

I was barely able to mumble two words of thanks before I seized the pitcher from her hands and gulped down half of its cool contents.

When I lowered the pitcher, her face came into view, still staring intently at me. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I noticed that her expression was riddled with curiosity and her eyes were far too wide to have just been woken from sleep.

I wondered how long she had really been awake, listening to my sleep-talking.

I stared down at my reflection in the water jug before looking back to the young woman in front of me. She blinked and cocked her head.

"Irina..."

"Yes, Carlisle?"

"When you hear me talking in my sleep at night... Can you make out words? Do I say anything sensible or is it just... uttered nonsense?"

She shifted on her feet, and I was suddenly nervous for her answer.

"I don't know, really. Sometimes I think I can hear what you are saying. Sometimes it makes no sense." She shook her head. "Once I thought I heard you say 'where are you?'" Her voice fell even quieter as she leaned near to me and whispered mystically, "It's almost like you're searching for something every time you fall asleep. It's strange."

She had no idea.

"That _is _strange, isn't it?" I shook the pitcher of water in my hands slightly, watching the water swirl around inside of it. I could feel Irina's gaze heavy on my face as the awkward silence passed, and suddenly she spoke.

"Carlisle, my father is concerned for you. I know you see it, too. He wonders where you go every night after working for so long. He wonders why you come home every evening looking as if you've been to Spain and back, and you hardly have time to eat your dinner before you fall asleep."

Her voice was very distressed, becoming more frantic by the second. I'd known this confrontation was coming for a while. I only considered myself a fool for thinking I could hide it for much longer.

I sighed. "I know I've been acting odd lately, Irina. I owe both you and your father an apology for my behavior. I am just being... immature." She wrinkled her forehead, not following me. I didn't intend for her to understand. It was better if my whereabouts and activities in the city remained unknown. "It is a long story. Better saved for a time when I'm not so thirsty," I said with a dry chuckle, fastening my lips to the rim of the water pitcher again to avoid further conversation on the subject.

"Well, I hope for your own sake that you find a way back to the way you were before," she said softly. "I worry for you, too, Carlisle. You know that, don't you?"

I looked up into her shining gray eyes and instantly saw the deeper meaning behind her words.

"Oh...Y—Yes," I mumbled awkwardly, unsure of how to tell her that I returned the care without giving her the wrong idea. Irina was beautiful and kind and everything I could have hoped for in a woman. _But she was not the woman in the mask_.

My heart sank at how foolish I was being. No woman would be more suited for me than the one who stood right in front of me. And she had just willingly confessed her feelings to me, even if it had been the most discreet and proper way to do so.

Her eyes flickered with hope, and I quickly realized I needed to elaborate some if I were to express any sort of sincerity to her. "I appreciate—"

Before I could even finish the thought, her lips were firmly pressed to my left cheek. The kiss was quick but certainly not as shy as I would have suspected from a woman like Irina. She hid many secrets behind those pale gray eyes of hers.

As she pulled away, I could do nothing but stand still in shock. It was a wonder I had not dropped the jug of water from my hands.

"_Buona sera_, Carlisle," she whispered. A ripple of moonlight flicked across her face before she disappeared into the stairwell.

I stood for another moment or two in utter silence, pondering what had just happened.

As the clock chimed three times in the room upstairs, I lifted the water pitcher to my lips and finished it in one last, desperate gulp.

-}0{-

Strangely enough, my sleeping habits had much improved since the night of Irina's unexpected kiss.

My mysterious masked _Esme _still lingered in the back of my mind, but my heart began to doubt that any amount of searching would ever bring her back to me. My conversation with Irina had brought me to realize how foolish and reckless my behavior had been. My neglect for work and my constant searching through the city streets every night had made me a disappointing apprentice to Eleazar, and I promised to rectify that by spending my evenings inside from now on.

The less exposure I had to the outside world, the more focused I became on my work. It was healthier for me to not invest all my time obsessing over masked women who seduced innocent men only to vanish into thin air.

For all I knew, _Esme_ was only a false name she used to ward men off so that they would never have any hope in finding her again. It shamed me to think that I had only been her play toy that night at the Piazza, but it was the only conceivable explanation I could produce for why she never came back. I'd thought we had something special, but that just proved how naïve I was. Surely she encountered willing men all of the time. She was nothing more than a common coquette, luring male victims with her charming wiles and heartlessly abandoning them in the night.

_Oh, Esme, have I secured myself a place in your lengthy book of conquests? _

I chuckled derisively to myself as I finished cleaning out the fireplace flu. If she would not be returning to me, than I would not waste away the hours of my life dreaming of her return.

I thought briefly back to the previous night, how Irina had glowed when I offered to escort her to the Feast of the Epiphany. She wore a long violet dress with a fine gray robe that matched her eyes. Her silvery blond hair had been left down, cascading over her shoulders in luxurious waves. I had never seen her wear lip paint before that night. She was always very modest in appearance, but when she put forth all her efforts to impress, she could very well have passed for a queen. I was proud to have her on my arm that night.

I did not need some nameless flirt to make me content.

But I despised the nature of a man's mind which forced me to think of _Esme_ still.

She was impossible to forget. I would simply have to accept that.

Frustrated, I tossed the cleaning rag into the empty cauldron and settled clumsily into one of the kitchen chairs. The day was not warm, but I was nearly perspiring from the amount of chores I had done that morning. I was still making up for all the hours I'd missed in the past week, and it was haunting the bones in my back more than anything.

I undid the laces on my servant shirt and carelessly threw my vest on the ground. My arms stretched out above my head, followed by a series of tense cracks that traveled up my back into my shoulders. I sighed wearily as I slumped back against the chair, too tired to even get up for a cup of water.

I listened distractedly to the commotion in the street outside, fingers kneading my forehead in attempt to press the pain away. I could feel a ferocious headache coming on already. Never good when it was only seven o' clock in the morning.

The noises in the street grew louder, much to my agitation. At first I thought it was only the ache in my head magnifying every little sound around me, but as the voices of strangers came closer, I could no longer ignore what was going on.

I shot up from my chair as I saw a hooded figure through the window, dragging what looked to be a badly injured man along toward my door. Without hesitation, I opened the door to let them in, aware that a modest crowd of people was watching curiously from the street corner behind them.

"They told me you could help!" the hooded figure spoke in shrill Italian. I was somewhat surprised to hear that it was a woman beneath the dark blue cloak, and it sounded to be a young one at that. She did not show her face at all, but I was too preoccupied to think it strange.

Thinking fast, I pulled up one of the wooden chairs to the door so that she would not have to move the man any further. I still did not know the extent of his injuries, and I did not want to risk making it worse by forcing him to walk any more than he already had.

"I am only an apothecary's apprentice, and my master will not be back until noon, but I will do all that I can, Senorina," I said hastily as she struggled to help the injured man into the chair. She then backed away, utterly silent. The scene was probably quite frightening to her.

The man collapsed against me, his middle-aged face contorted in pain. He reached out to hold onto my shirt as his legs gave way, spreading a bit of blood onto my clothes. I tried desperately to contain my panic, but my hands were shaking as I ripped the hem of his trouser leg where the blood had matted the fabric to his skin.

Beneath the torn fabric I could see that his leg was sporting a horrific gash that stretched from the middle of his calf to his knee. Thankfully no bones were protruding that I could see, but he was bleeding very excessively, and I knew I needed to find something quickly to bind the open wound.

"Senorina," I addressed her firmly, realizing at once that I did not have to do this alone. "There is a rag over there in the cauldron by the fireplace. Bring it to me, along with that pitcher of water on the table."

I regretted that my Italian was still a bit rough, especially in a moment of panic. However, the hooded woman seemed to catch onto my directions quite effortlessly despite my stumbling.

I was strangely comforted by the sound of her scurrying around the small room to bring me the things I needed. It gave me a vague idea of what it felt like to be the master, ordering his servant about. I was so accustomed to following orders from Eleazar, that being in a position of authority was a bit of a pleasant shock for me. For a brief moment I wished I had not told them that I was an apprentice, and that I'd let them believe I was the master apothecary all along.

I shook my head of the self-indulgent thought and turned my attention back to the man in the chair. "I'm going to take care of you," I murmured to him, shifting things around in an effort to make him more comfortable. He uttered a painful grunt as I handled his injured leg. "Do not fret. I can help you."

Beside me a pair of hands appeared, holding the pitcher of water and the scrubbing rag I had asked for. I quickly took the water and poured it down his bleeding leg. He gasped at the stinging sensation, and I winced just imagining how awful it must have felt. I placed a hand on his shoulder in attempt to calm him as I muttered a word of apology in broken Italian.

I realized too late that I could not wrap the leg without first applying some kind of medicine to protect the gash from infection. I thought frantically of the ways I had watched Eleazar treat injured men and women with his mysterious herbal cures. An image flashed in my mind, of one bottle he used often when healing open wounds.

I stirred my hand in the air to get the woman's attention as I thought over how to say my next command in Italian. "Senorina, go to the cabinet in the corner of the room. Inside you will find many bottles. You must bring me one that is small and blue – it will be the only one without a label on it."

I looked to my side, ready to scold her for not moving, only to find that she was already on the opposite end of the room, digging through the cabinet for the medicine I'd asked for.

Impressive instincts was the only way I could think to explain her quickness.

I sighed with relief when she appeared promptly at my side again with the correct bottle. I gave it a firm shake as I'd seen Eleazar do before dabbing a bit on the cloth and applying it to the bloody gash.

The poor man twitched in pain, but in his teary eyes I could see an expression of thanks. I watched in wonder as the blood seemed to recede the longer I rubbed the mysterious oil into his skin. It was no wonder the townspeople made speculations of Eleazar being a warlock.

Feeling like a miracle worker, I barely suppressed a grin of pride as I expertly tore bits of the rag to make a bandage for his leg. Once the wound was covered and the bloody mess cleared away, I took in a deep breath of relief. I felt like my lungs had been paralyzed since the man collapsed into the chair. Now he was on his way to recovery, thanks to me.

"That should take care of you," I said as I brushed off my hands and stood up.

"Oh, good sir, I cannot thank you enough," the woman's soft voice spoke where the man could not. He showed as much with his eyes before closing them and leaning back into the chair, clutching his knee with a white-knuckled grip.

"You were right to come here. I'm very glad I could be of service to you," I said as I poured a goblet of water for the injured man. I turned to him with a shaky smile. "I would of course offer you wine for the pain, but my master is not quite so lavish to have any in his home."

The man gave me a forgiving wince in return, holding up a hand to signify that water would suffice.

I quickly poured a drink for myself and one for the woman. As I lifted the modest pewter goblet for her to take, she flinched back and drew her hood over her face so that her features were cast in the safety of shadow.

I frowned. "Are you not thirsty, Senorina?"

She shook her head, still clutching the ends of her hood securely around her face. I politely looked away, assuming she must have been hiding a scar of some sort. I knew better than to pressure her to remove the hood, though it gnawed on my curiosity and reminded me greatly of another certain woman who stubbornly refused to show me her face...

_Good Lord! Were the women of Italy so self-conscious that they could not spare a man a single glance of their faces? One would think they were all suffering from Leprosy! _

"Very well, then..."

I cleared my throat and set the goblet down on the table, eyeing her suspiciously as I sat down. I glanced between her and the man for a few moments before asking the question that had been on my mind since they arrived.

"I see it was an unfortunate accident that brought you here," I said gently, motioning to the man's injured leg. "Might I ask how it happened?"

The hooded woman shifted uncomfortably, as if she feared saying any more than she already had. However, it was the man himself who responded to my question.

His voice was ragged and strained, but I could understand his Italian easily because he spoke so slowly. "I am a carpenter," he said, pressing a hand to his chest. "I was sawing in my workshop, and the blade slipped from my hand," he coughed and shook his head. "Usually I have my son to help me... I should have waited for him."

"I am sorry to hear that, sir." I said sincerely. "You are fortunate the blade did not run any further. The surface should heal in good time, but I'm afraid this will leave a scar." I pointed to his leg beneath the table.

"No matter," he sputtered, slapping his knee. "I have many scars. In my profession it is unavoidable." He took another swig of his goblet, beginning to relax a bit.

I smiled weakly at him before turning my gaze up to the silent woman standing against the wall, her hood still covering her face.

"Is this your daughter?" I whispered, leaning closer to the man. Perhaps if she was he could explain her shyness.

He looked from me to the woman as if it were his first time seeing her. A bewildered expression crossed his eyes as he shook his head slowly. "No... I do not know this woman."

"Senorina?" I addressed her, unwilling to endure her frustrating silence any longer. "Won't you please join us?"

She swayed a bit in her shadowy corner, her hands fidgeting nervously as she struggled to keep her hood in place. My heart twisted with pity as I supposed she was used to being shunned from good company because of whatever deformity graced her face beneath that hood. I would not have her feeling unwelcome in this house. Such things did not matter to me.

"I'm certain that this man is very grateful to you for having helped him in a time of distress. Myself I am quite impressed that you took the initiative to aid him when very few people would bother. Yet you do not wish to identify yourself for us?"

Even though I could not see her face at all, I could tell that she was beginning to feel guilty for being so distant.

"I am sorry," she mumbled, almost too low for me to hear. "I…I do not wish to reveal myself to strangers."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man turn his head to look at me, most likely to see if I shared his shock. My lips fell open to protest, but before I could even speak she had murmured another hasty apology and slipped anxiously out the door.

My guest and I sat in silence for a few moments before he made a very predictable remark.

"How strange."

"I could not agree more," I said, frowning down at the full goblet of water she had refused.

"You say you are an apothecary's apprentice?" he asked, sounding curious.

"Yes, my name is Carlisle. My master is called Eleazar," I introduced myself easily. "I recently moved here from England."

A weary grin crossed his face, "That does explain the accent."

I laughed sheepishly. "I am trying to improve."

He shook his head. "You speak well. And you are quite skilled for an apprentice," he said, nodding to his injured leg. "Your master should know that he is lucky to have you."

I ducked my head. "Thank you..."

"Giuseppe," he finished, reaching out a worn hand for me to shake.

"Well, Giuseppe, I certainly hope you will be letting your son take care of the sawing from now on in that workshop of yours."

-}0{-

Nearly one hour later, I was feeling quite satisfied for all my good deeds that day. I had finished half of my daily chores, helped to heal an injured man, and managed to get him home safely all well before noon. Now I could not wait for Eleazar and Irina to return. I wanted to tell them all about my quick-handed heroism.

But first there was more cleaning to be done.

With some reluctance, I returned to scrubbing the oil burners, only to be startled by the sound of footsteps very close to the window. Thinking there was someone looking to come inside, I stood up suddenly and made my way to the door.

As I opened it, I caught just a flash of a very familiar dark blue hooded figure rushing down the empty alley. A secret thrill filled me as I wondered why on earth she had come back to my doorstep. Something must have intrigued her to return so soon, and I intended to find out what it was.

"You!" I called ungracefully after the woman, bolting after her into the street. "Do not run! Please!" I stumbled around a corner, still determined to catch up with her though she was surprisingly fast on her feet. "Please, I wish to speak with you!"

I did not expect for one instant that she would slow down for me. But to my utter shock, she did not only slow down; she stopped.

My heart raced roughly as I jogged the rest of the way down the shady alley to meet her. She cowered slightly at my approach, which brought a fresh wave of pity into my chest.

_What was it that made her so terribly shy and afraid to be seen?_

I stood close enough to make her aware that I was not afraid of her, yet far enough that it would not make her feel trapped.

"What you did today was very brave," I told her, still breathless from my run. "I wanted to thank you for helping me to take care of that man. I would have had much trouble treating him if it hadn't been for you."

I was almost sure she would say something in return to this, but predictably, she remained silent. She stood there, still as a statue of the Madonna in her mysterious blue cloak, barely even breathing although she had run the same distance as I had.

This woman had me baffled.

I could not help myself.

"Why do you hide beneath that hood?" I asked quietly, hoping she would come out of her shell if I was gentle enough in my coaxing.

Her fingers were whiter than snow where they gripped her midnight colored hood. I longed to unlatch each of her fingers from its place and let the hood fall back so that I could see her face. But I kept my hands firmly behind my back.

"May I at least know your name?" I asked in a grief-filled voice, reminded so heavily of that night in the Piazza… It was hurting me to even think of it.

Just then she tipped her head up ever so slightly, enough that I was able to see a sliver of her face revealed beneath the hood – just the end of a delicate chin and the curve of a full, red bottom lip.

A light flutter of heat prickled on the back of my neck. With a pair of lips like that, it was simply inconceivable that this woman could be anything less than pleasing to the eye. Yet this small revelation infuriated and perplexed me even more.

_How could one part of a woman's face be so lovely while the rest of it needed to be kept in hiding? _

"Your name, Senorina?" I repeated, so quiet I worried she hadn't heard me.

In that little window of space where I could see her chin, I watched as her plush pair of lips fell open and the following words spilled out: "I've already told you that, Carlisle."

My mouth dropped open in shock. How had she known _my _name? Had we met before? Perhaps on the first night of the year in the Piazza Navona?

_Was she...? _

But no, she could not be... I had not revealed my name to… _Esme_. Yet her voice was so alarmingly familiar to me now that she spoke in that same, fluid, sultry tone. That was the very voice that haunted my dreams.

This woman in the midnight cloak… She _had _to be her.

"Who are you?" I asked in a hoarse voice, my breathlessness now having nothing to do with the distance I'd run.

My heart trembled violently as I awaited her response.

Without a word, she lifted her hands and swiftly drew back her hood.

* * *

><p><strong>Who predicts that poor Carlisle will now have a massive heart attack? ;) <strong>

**So what did you think of this chapter? Was it how you expected their second meeting to unfold? **

**Read on to see a lot of this sequence from Esme's POV in the next chapter; hopefully much more will be revealed. :)**


	5. The Apothecary's Apprentice

**Chapter 5:**

**The Apothecary's Apprentice**

* * *

><p><em>~Esme<em>

Coming home from First Night was an absolute rush. I had never felt more alive in my life. My chest felt as if it had a heartbeat once again as I ran through across half the country from Rome back to Volterra. He was all I could think about – the boy, now man, I had rescued from the sea seven years ago. As I left the celebration behind me, I was lost in a whirlwind of anxiety and regret. I wished I had asked him for _his _name.

I knew very well that he would never find me, not if he searched for a thousand years. Even if he did somehow track me down as the only _Esme _in Italy, he could have fallen to his knees at the doorstep of the Volturi chambers, and I would have run away before he could even know I was there.

I did not want him to find me. That I had been foolish enough to give him my name at all was bad enough. My heart had taken the better of me that night. I knew I was not supposed to link myself to any human, much less one who had shown a most perplexing interest in me. After hours of reliving the night we had spent together, I started to wonder if he was only attracted to me, or if he had felt that spark of unfathomable familiarity around me, as I did with him.

But it was impossible. There was no way he could have remembered me.

He had been only sixteen years of age at the time, delirious from having his lungs filled with water, blind with the salt and brine that had shielded his eyes, weakened by the stormy sea's vengeful strength.

_He did not remember me. _

I reminded myself of this over and over, but each time I so much as glanced in the direction of Rome, I felt a sudden reckless urge to start running straight back to him.

I would find him far more easily than he could ever hope to find me.

And I knew he would be looking for me. I knew that leaving him with only my name had made it worse for him than if I were to have left him with no bit of information at all. Now that he had but one simple clue to finding out who I was, he would no doubt be scouring the streets of Roma night after night, searching for the maiden who had tickled his heart and abandoned him without a trace.

I felt exceedingly guilty when I imagined him rushing from door to door, spending hours in the Piazza in the hopes that we would cross paths again. I feared that his searching could go on forever. He was so dangerously determined, so imprudently passionate.

The more I thought of my nameless admirer, the more restless I became. I could no longer spend every night staring out my window, wondering how much my prolonged absence was hurting him. I simply _had _to return to Rome and find him. I could feel my vulnerability giving way, and I knew that my return was inevitable. But I promised myself, should I give in and run to Rome on a whim, I would _not, _under any circumstances, speak with him or show him my face.

If I went to find him at all, my presence would have to remain a secret. If he knew I had returned, he would never let me leave. If our eyes ever locked again in the way they did that night, I feared that _I_ would be attached to him for life.

I was wary in my journey back to Rome, knowing well that I could leave no trace of my presence in the city. I cloaked myself in the traditional hooded cape the Volturi often used to disguise themselves from the sun. I had never liked the way the stark black colors of the cloaks seemed to draw more suspicion towards us, so I had my own robe made in a deep indigo color. It shielded me from the sunlight while conveniently hiding my face from the public eye.

I knew that I had the power and the smarts to avoid being seen. The question was, would I be willing to do everything in my power to keep myself hidden?

As I glided discreetly through the bustling early morning crowds in the Piazza, I began to feel a nagging vulnerability blossoming inside of me. My eyes sought out every place he and I had visited on First Night, from the ledge of the central fountain to the rooftop above the square. And with every familiar little spot my eyes recalled, I was filled with the urge to tear off my robe and unveil myself to the collective gaze of the sun and the hundreds of people who surrounded me.

Secretly, I wanted to be known in Rome. I wanted people to talk; I wanted their words to spread throughout the city like wildfire, and I wanted _him _to find me. Foolishly, I hoped by some off chance he would show himself here in the square this morning, and I would be able to follow him home.

It was so discouraging to think that even if he _did _find me, I would have to remain undetected and detached from him. Even if I did follow him home, I would not be able to whisper one word to him. I could not let him recognize me at any cost.

Yet I knew that if this were to happen, I would not be able to bear hiding from him.

It was too dangerous for me to be here. I needed to leave. For the very reason I had come here searching for him, I now needed to be as far away as possible. With each second I remained here, hidden beneath my heavy cloak in the warm Italian sun, I risked revealing my identity...and so much more.

A wrench struck my heart as I swiftly fled the Piazza in search of a less crowded alley where I could make a fast escape. My nose was already starting to tingle with the mingling bursts of appealing blood wafting from all directions. In my mind, I believed I could almost smell _him_ – his energy, his _voglio_, his joy and passion. Oh, how I wished I could see him just once more...

_Dangerous. This was so dangerous. _

My feet hit the dirt and stone paths with a vengeance as I traveled my way quickly through the back streets of Rome. Even as I was running to get away, my heart sank with every step I took further away from the beautiful, crowded center of the city.

The buildings I passed grew steadily smaller, their architecture less impressive. The air grew cooler and less fragrant, while the sounds of bustling carriages and loud voices of vendors faded into the distance. But my relief was finely outweighed by my disappointment. I almost felt as if I could cry.

I was not used to failure. As a vampire I had always considered myself a woman of strength and invincibility. I was cunning, even amongst my kind. It was why the Volturi valued me. I had no gifts other than my own intelligence, passion, and boldness. But these had always been enough. Until now.

I felt that I had not only failed myself, but the young boy I had saved seven years ago. I could still see his beautiful face when I closed my eyes – the salt clinging to his fair lashes, the inquisitive blue orbs beneath them. It stung when I thought of the advantages I had taken with him now. My one chance to spend a night with him, to truly know the man he had become, had been too wonderful for my own good. One night with him was not enough. I could not accept it. Now I would never forget it; I would long for it for the rest of my bleak eternity.

I should never have gone to First Night in Rome.

Not an hour before I set out to come here again, I had been deeply regretting that I'd missed the Feast of the Epiphany. But now I couldn't be more grateful that I chose not to go.

It would have sealed my fate forever if I'd seen him there again.

Better not to know any more of what I was missing.

My footsteps grew slower as I came closer to the perimeter of the city, less than eager to leave behind a place I would likely never be able to return to. I could not look at these gorgeous buildings, these streets that were peppered with ubiquitous art. I could not smell the jasmine and crocus that were nestled in the boxes of store windows, or the fresh scent of honey bread wafting from the bakery, or the inebriating aroma of the wine press without remembering him.

I made a promise to myself before I crossed the boundary. As soon as I left Rome today, I would never return.

Before I could carve my sentence in stone, a devastated cry broke my concentration, slicing the eerie silence around me. The streets echoed with the sound, its source not far away. There were no other people around to hear it where I had, and I knew that I had to investigate.

My curiosity led me straight to a quaint little street corner where the man's cries were loudest. I followed the distressing sounds and the disturbingly strong scent of fresh blood into an open carpenter's workshop at the end of the street. There on the ground was a man who looked to have just suffered a terrible accident while carving with a saw. I saw the blood running out from one of his legs where he gripped it, writhing on the floor in pain. The bottom half of his trousers were red.

I soothed him as best I could while holding my breath. I could not speak enough to calm him, for the scent of blood was certainly going to grow stronger before it faded. Desperate to help stop the flow not only for the poor man but for myself, I quickly grabbed the nearest piece of cloth I could find and held it firmly against the wound on his calf.

Once I had him in a better position, I looked frantically around for anyone who could offer aid. There seemed to be no one in the man's home, let alone in the workshop with him at the time of the accident. I did not even know how long he had been here on his own, crying out for help where no one could hear him. It was very early in the morning still, and the more crowded part of the city was too far away.

I looked down at the man in pity, calming him with my eyes before I dared to see how his injury was holding up. He groaned again with the pain as I lifted the cloth to let see the blood, cursing in Italian before I covered it again.

He needed better treatment than this. I had to get him to someone who had knowledge of open wounds.

I could hear other people in the streets outside the workshop now, and it frustrated me that they would not stop to see what had happened. They were suspicious of the commotion, but no one seemed willing or brave enough to help. Was there not one decent person on this street?

I needed to breathe so that I could call for help myself. But I knew the only way I could get a clean breath was by stepping outside.

I rubbed the man's back reassuringly with my hand before I stood up, hoping that he would not think I was abandoning him. If I could go out to the street for just a few seconds I could refill my lungs enough to speak to him, and I could possibly find someone to help.

But he instantly grabbed hold of my robe before I could get away. There was no way I could show him that I would return, not when I couldn't even risk breathing to speak one word to him.

He bombarded me with incoherent Italian, "Do not leave me! Please, you must help me! I cannot walk!"

Knowing I could not leave this place without him, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of. I lifted him off the ground and dragged him along with me.

If no one would come to our aid, then I would just have to seek out the aid myself.

Filled with a bitter determination as I carried the crying man into the street, I glared around for any peeking eyes, for any person who could direct me to someone who could properly care for my suffering counterpart.

I struggled to keep my hood high enough over my head as I rounded the corner of the street. For the sake of anyone watching us, I pretended that supporting his weight was a burden as he limped along beside me with a permanent wince on his face.

I had thought this area of the city to be a ghost street until finally, a group of young women came pouring out of the very last shop around the corner. Their faces showed mercy and compassion for my struggle, but they looked far too timid to help me carry my injured cargo. I still could not speak because I had not taken a breath since we left the workshop, so I attempted to plead with my eyes, hoping the women would understand what I needed.

"Take him to Eleazar's apothecary!" they chattered over each other, pointing in the same general direction. As I turned my head to look over my shoulder, I immediately found the place they were pointing to. It was a small, cramp building like all the others, but on its sign was the universal symbol for medicine I had grown familiar with in Pisa.

I could still hear the nervous commotion of the women behind me as I made my way up to the door of the apothecary.

The silhouette of a tall figure appeared in the darkened doorway, and relief filled me with the confidence enough to breathe at last.

"They told me you could help!" I spilled breathlessly, perfecting my show of struggling with the man who held onto my arm. Nearly two octaves higher, my voice was unrecognizable because I was so overcome with anxiety.

I cringed as I helped the carpenter over the threshold, holding my breath once again to keep myself from being tempted by the onslaught of sinfully sweet blood. The injury must have gotten worse...

As we stumbled into the dark entryway, my eyes adjusted to the sights around me. Lifting my eyes just enough to take in my surroundings, I curiously peeked out from underneath my hood to see who had saved us.

One look at the man who stood across from me, and I knew the scent that now tempted me was not coming from the wound in the poor carpenter's leg.

It was _him_. The boy from the sea. The man from First Night.

He stood before me now, blond and oblivious, his liquid blue eyes wide with panic.

But this time he wore no mask on his face.

I had little less than a second to be shocked by his devastatingly human beauty before he was speaking to me in impressively dismal Italian. "I am only an apothecary's apprentice, and my master will not be back until noon, but I will do all that I can, Senorina."

If his eyes and his hair and his face weren't enough, his voice alone would have instantly proved that it was him. That voice was branded into my heart forever. His distinct English accent, so broken and frantic, still sounded like the sweetest music to my ears.

I was all but trembling with shock as I backed slowly away from the scene that was playing out before me. My beloved blond bandit was shaking just as much as I, but his hands were surprisingly efficient as he worked to heal the man's wound.

I was lost in a daze as I watched him tear pieces of fabric from the man's clothing, his fingers probing the bleeding area. My shock not only came from being around so many appealing temptations in the way of blood, but also from the sole fact that I had stumbled upon my mysterious escort from First Night without even trying. He was here in the same room as me... _After all that time thinking I would never see him again..._

Destiny was so wonderfully cruel to me.

Blood was everywhere, all over his arms, dampening his loose white shirt. As if he were not already attractive enough, he was now soaked to the skin in another man's blood.

My mouth began to water with venom, and I forced myself to look away.

To my dismay his beautiful voice was suddenly demanding my help as he asked me to retrieve a wash rag and a pitcher of water. Although his vocabulary was not quite right, I was able to understand most of what he was telling me just from the context of our situation.

I had hoped to somehow make an escape once he was distracted, but now I could see that would not be happening. I was too involved now. To leave them behind would be selfish. Not to mention I would be plagued by guilt for the rest of my life if I did it.

So I followed his rushed orders, hurrying about his master's home to fetch the things needed to take care of the injured man.

His sheer determination was inspiring to me. I could see in his blue eyes a shining light of utter decency and good intention. He was so kind to be doing this even in his master's absence.

My heart went wild as I watched him work to heal the man I had brought to him. Knowing that I had a part in helping another human being was thrilling in itself. We had worked together, my soft-spoken angel and I, in aiding and providing for this man when no one else had the courage to do it.

Not being able to speak was killing me inside. When at last he managed to wrap the injured leg in a secure bandage, I felt my words rising against my will inside my throat. Using the last of my precious bated breath, I uttered in a strained voice, "Oh, good sir, I cannot thank you enough."

I feared then that he would tell me his name. I even expected it. But he looked up at me with his gentle, piercing eyes and said, "You were right to come here. I'm very glad I could be of service to you." His gaze then went to the newly bandaged man in the chair as he poured his guest a goblet full of water. "I would of course offer you wine for the pain, but my master is not quite so lavish to have any in his home."

My chest ached as I watched a sheepish smile cross his familiar lips. His unfailing kindness and hospitality was literally hurting me. I found it almost unbearable to watch him as he lifted the pitcher of water and filled another goblet. My panic level began to rise as I realized he was going to hand it to me.

His hand rose up with the goblet, extending it for me to take. I self-consciously pulled my hood closer around my face and stepped back, knowing my behavior would appear quite odd to him. I had no other choice.

Not only was I incapable of drinking water, but if I accepted what he offered me, I would be obligated by common courtesy to stay in his home for at least an hour more. He would expect me to sit at his table, to make small talk, to... tell him about myself...

When I did not move to take the cup from his hand, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Are you not thirsty, Senorina?"

I shook my head quickly, thinking of some way I could excuse myself before I had to speak any more. I had risked recognition for long enough. To stay any longer would be unforgivably irresponsible of me, and could lead to horrifying consequences.

"Very well, then," he whispered disappointedly. I bit my lip and clutched the hood of my cape even tighter to my chin.

He sat down beside the carpenter and began to chat amiably with him, asking how he had injured himself and how he had been lucky enough to find help.

My mind started drifting as I looked around the room, thinking of how I could tell them my presence was needed elsewhere without looking suspicious. From every angle of the situation I felt as if I were trapped. My eyes widened in fear as I heard the dreaded whispers begin on the other side of the room. Eavesdropping on their quiet conversation I could easily make out the words "Is this your daughter?"

I peered up to see the middle-aged carpenter shake his head, bemused. "No. I do not know this woman."

My stomach twisted uncomfortably as both men's eyes landed suspiciously on me.

"Senorina?" the apothecary's aid gently addressed me. "Won't you please join us?" His fingers unfurled in a signal of welcome as he attempted to coax me out of my hood, or at the very least invite me to sit at his table. Anyone else would have mistaken my behavior for rudeness, but he seemed to know that something more was bothering me. I could sense the concern in his voice. Still, he wanted me to feel at home.

My guilt doubled as he continued speaking.

"I'm certain that this man is very grateful to you for having helped him in a time of distress. Myself I am quite impressed that you took the initiative to aid him when very few people would bother. Yet you do not wish to identify yourself for us?"

Taking as tiny a breath as I could in order to answer him, I whispered stiffly, "I am sorry, I... I do not wish to reveal myself to strangers."

The silence that followed my words devoured me like a wave on the ocean. I could no longer stand another second in this house, with the perfume of blood floating all around me as I held my breath, with his frustratingly inquisitive blue eyes boring into me from across the room. Muttering my apologies, I surrendered to my nerves and thrust the door open to escape into the street where it was safe.

My lungs gulped for clean air the second I was free. The flare of the sun stung my eyes as I stared around the empty street corner. I had to find somewhere to hide in case he followed me. Lord knows this young man seemed to like running after women when they ran away from him.

Once I was sure that I wasn't being watched, I swiftly scaled the height of the building and hid behind the chimney on his roof so that I could listen in on his conversation with the carpenter.

The chimney led right into the kitchen where they were sitting. I could hear every word they exchanged as if they were right beside me. I knew I should not have been doing it, not because I was invading their privacy, but because the more I knew about him, the less likely I was to leave him alone.

But I just could not help myself. I _should_ have been running far away from this place and telling myself I could never return again. But here I was, on the roof of his house, listening in on his conversation as he revealed precious information about himself, information I thirsted for. I clutched my hood and breathed hard in the shadows, drinking in the tones of his voice.

Once he uttered his name, I knew the line had been crossed.

_"My name is Carlisle. My master is called Eleazar. I recently moved here from England." _

Carlisle. This was the name of my drowning angel. I closed my eyes and whispered the name under my breath, resisting the urge to sob.

I realized then that it would not have mattered whether I'd heard his name or not. I would still be here, watching him, listening to him, following him forever.

On First Night our lives had been seamlessly entwined, and I was utterly terrible at undoing the knots. I wanted only to tighten them so that they would be unbreakable.

-}0{-

His voice sounded muffled as it drifted up to me through the rooftop. Each time he sighed and tried to recall a word in a language that was not his own, a bemused smile spread over my lips. I imagined the way he would have looked as he was speaking to his guest, the way he had spoken to me on First Night. Even though the black bandit mask had covered half his features, he was so animated in both speech and expression that I could easily sense how he would have looked without it.

He laughed, he coughed, he hummed with sympathy, he inhaled and exhaled… And it was all tortuously fascinating to my ears.

After an exquisite hour of intently listening to his conversation from above, I finally leaned over the side of the roof to watch as he took the thankful carpenter into the street and called for a carriage to take him back home.

The high afternoon sun burned brightly overhead, threatening my hiding spot. I ducked back into the shadows before I could see him go back inside his house.

Unable to help my curiosity, I slipped quietly down the side of the building and tiptoed my way towards the window that looked into his kitchen, desperate to see the face of the voice I'd been listening to for an hour. I _needed_ to see him again, to watch every move he made, to pick him apart and analyze him from the inside out. He was so fascinating to me... so terribly fascinating.

He walked slowly inside his home, making careful, deliberate movements as he cleaned up the spots of blood that were still on the floor. Everything he did was filled with endearing precision; every swipe of his hand and blink of his eyes had such purpose. I was smitten with him, and my obsession was building every second like mounds of foam on a stormy sea.

His expression was distant, gentle but brooding, as if he were lost in deep thoughts. I could sense the troubled nature of those thoughts from the way his arms stretched and his body bent with hints of tension. He carried himself with poise and exuberance whenever he interacted with other people, but when he was alone he looked somewhat weary and melancholy. I pitied him for it as much as I wondered what had made him that way.

The work of an apothecary's aid must have been very challenging. I had never worked a day in my life, as a woman or as a vampire. There was something so beautiful about this man who gave everything of himself – his time, his efforts, his strengths – to help others no matter how exhausting the work was. This, I thought, was what had given..._Carlisle_...so much character, what had made him so appealing to me from the very first moment I'd laid eyes on him.

On the outside he was an honest, devoted, hard-working citizen. But inside he was a free, fire-hearted, passionate adventurer. He was like the gem inside the geode. A hard and rustic shell with a bright and shining center.

I wanted to open him, to look inside of him, to dig deeper and discover each of those hidden qualities that made him so special to me. He was a puzzle just begging to be solved.

Oh, how I wanted to know him better.

I stepped closer, gripping the wooden edge of the small kitchen window with my fingers – a testament to my desire to climb inside and join him in his mundane chores.

As my feet scraped against the side of the stone wall I flinched in fear, knowing he had heard me.

His head shot up at once, fine strands of blond flinging into his startled eyes as his gaze swept straight towards my hiding place.

I ran.

Once again, I was running away from him.

"You!" his gut-wrenchingly beautiful voice called out. My impenetrable skin prickled delightfully at the knowledge that he was addressing me, and yet I ran even harder to get out of his sight.

"Do not run! Please!" His words became heartier, more desperate, and most notably, closer. "Please, I wish to speak with you!" The unpracticed strains of his Italian pierced my heart with pity, causing me to halt immediately in my tracks.

Over the period of my obscenely long life, I had never known a power like the one this man's voice held over me.

I never stopped for anyone. No one but him.

One word from him and I was bolted to the ground beneath me, unable to breathe or move.

I heard his footsteps draw heavily nearer as he rushed down the street towards me. Each step he took was loaded with his desperation, punishing gravity in his mission to meet me halfway.

My dead heart echoed every one of those steps, and behind my closed eyes I could envision the way he must have looked – breathless and bright-eyed in his hasty approach, his sun-burnished brow still riddled with the worry that I would suddenly scurry away from him before he could reach me.

I slowly turned around to face him, wishing I could favor my eyes with the sight of him. But I had to keep my head bowed low so that his gaze could not seek out my face.

Perhaps there was still a chance that I could escape unidentified.

Perhaps, but this chance was dangerously slim – and growing slimmer by the second.

"What you did today was very brave," he said, the broken beauty of his voice whittling expertly away at my confidence. "I wanted to thank you for helping me to take care of that man. I would have had much trouble treating him if it hadn't been for you."

I reeled at his sincerity, frustrated that I could not show him the emotions I felt inside because of his kind words.

My stillness and unresponsive demeanor must have been unsettling to the poor man. From where my eyes rested solemnly on the ground I could see his feet in worn brown sandals, shifting nervously.

"Why do you hide beneath that hood?"' The suddenness of his question was even more jarring because of the soft manner in which he had asked me.

It was as if he feared my insistence to cover my face was to hide some sort of horrendous deformity. There was a touch of wonder in his voice, but mostly a naïve curiosity.

For a moment I feared that he would reach out and grab my hood to pull it away from my face before I could stop him.

In defense, I clutched the edges of my hood tighter around my face and bowed my head lower.

"May I at least know your name?" he pleaded. Like a Florentine breeze in springtime, the breath of his words seemed to graze my face with a loving touch, coaxing my chin to lift ever so slightly.

I had revealed this to him as a gift – a glance at the lower half of my face – offering him the chance to put a name to his memory, if he still remembered...

"Your name, Senorina?" he repeated. His whispered words were swollen with hidden meaning and a secret knowledge. I wondered if, deep down in his soul, he already knew who I was.

There was no turning back.

"I've already told you that, Carlisle," I answered in smooth Italian, not bothering to hide the natural inflections in my voice.

I _wanted_ him to recognize me now. I was thirsting to be recognized by his enchanting blue eyes.

His thrilled confusion was so palpable I could have cut through it with a knife.

"Who are you?" he asked in raspy wonder, his deep voice sweeter than the warm holiday honey bread he adored so much.

Unable to resist his curiosity any longer, my fingers loosened their clutch on my hood and tore it away from my face.

Although the alley we were standing in was cast in shadow, I felt as if I were center stage in an opera house, frozen beneath a bright beam of light that came streaming through the oculus.

My eyes were wide, revealing every fleck of inhuman gold that rested inside of them. My expression was pure and unbridled, receptive to the look of intense shock that changed his face with the swiftness of a bolt of lightning.

He was stricken by the sight of me, his blue eyes swimming with a thousand delirious memories. I could feel his heart pounding in my own chest, and I could smell the fragrant streams of adrenaline that were racing through his veins.

Everything about his face, from the sculpted softness of his lips to the handsome symmetry of his raised brows, displayed utter and complete disbelief.

But I was here before him now. The woman from his childhood. The woman who had rescued him from drowning.

I knew the second I took my hood down that he would not only remember me from First Night but from that stormy morning seven years ago when I had saved him from the wrath of the sea.

"It cannot be..." he murmured in silky English, blinking and trembling as if he were sure this was a dream.

With a careful hand I reached out and touched his arm to bring him back to life. He flinched, and I instantly pulled away, leaving him to rub the icy residue of my touch away from his shamelessly hot skin.

He stared down at the place I had touched him, prodding the space with his fingers in amazement – a delay of reaction. His eyes then shot back up to my face, his mouth open just enough that I could see unspoken words glistening on his tongue.

I pretended to look confused, cocking my head to the side in encouragement for him to share more with me. I needed to know what he was thinking before I felt confident enough to share anything more with him. I was treading lethal waters as it was.

"What cannot be?" I prodded, aware that he was having trouble articulating what was going through his head.

"_You... _You are...the beautiful maiden from the sea," he uttered with the reverence of one who recounted a beloved fairytale. My insides squirmed with delight at the mystical name by which he had referred to me all these years.

I smiled softly, barely able to contain my own wonder and joy. "The beautiful maiden from the sea?" I repeated, feigning misunderstanding. "We met on First Night, just over a week ago. Remember?"

His brow flexed in puzzlement, frustration gleaming in his eyes. I shook my head teasingly at him. "Are you feeling quite all right, Carlisle?"

One of his hands went immediately to his forehead as if to feel how feverish he had become. "How do you know my name?"

"I was listening to your conversation." I lowered my gaze in shame. "From outside your house."

He swiftly licked his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, still not quite all there. "How did you find me again," he asked desperately, "after all this time?"

I realized then that I was still safe from the sunlight where we stood. He had seen me only enough to recognize me, not enough to pinpoint my strangeness. He did not _have_ to know that I was a vampire... Not yet, at least.

I could do this. I could put on an act. I could keep up the charade of a human for as long as I pleased, until I was ready to tell him the truth. I did not have to overwhelm him with that revelation just yet.

This was possible... wasn't it?

"I..." I began to speak, noticing with fascination that he was already hanging on my every breath. I gave him a gentle smile and continued vaguely, "It has only been a week since we've last seen each other. I felt badly for leaving you behind that night, so I decided to come back and find you."

It was half true.

He still looked devastated by confusion. "Then... you _don't _remember me?" I never recalled seeing a sadder shade of blue in my life.

"Of course I remember you. You wore a black mask and were the only man I've ever met who refused a second goblet of wine." I shot him a teasing grin and fluttered my eyelashes for good measure.

An absent laugh broke free from his lips as he stared blankly into my eyes, shaking his head slowly back and forth. "I mean from when I was a boy," he whispered, his fleeting smile fading into a most upsetting frown. I wanted to reach out and embrace him.

Instead I prolonged my false display of confusion. "I'm sorry?"

His teeth bit down forcefully into his lower lip, so deeply I feared he might draw blood. He looked to his feet, then back to my face, his expression so wonderfully intense I felt my knees start to waver in response.

"Seven years ago," he began devoutly, "you rescued me from the sea when I was thrown overboard from an English ship during a storm." His fingers reached out to carefully touch the fabric of my cloak on my shoulder. A breathless half-laugh caused his eyes to sparkle as he continued passionately, "Oh, I was but a reckless lad back then, and you were my savior. I never forgot your face." His voice lowered to a spirited whisper. "Never..."

Now, I would indulge him.

"_You_ were the boy...?" I pretended to have an epic epiphany, watching the brilliant birth of a grin on his lips as he thought he had awakened the memory in me as well.

"Yes, _yes_!" He nodded emphatically, dimples dancing in his newly flushed cheeks.

Simultaneously, we each reached out with both hands to grip the other's elbows, lost in our awestruck little reunion. Our laughter mingled harmoniously, echoing in the empty alley.

His mouth dropped open again, still stuck in a silly, crooked smile. "Not one detail of your face has changed since then," he whispered in fascination. "You are truly timeless...like a painting."

I ducked my head as was customary of a woman who had received an utterly inappropriate compliment from a man she barely knew. But our relationship was different, shifting faster than the stars. Though I was too proud to admit it even to myself, I was frightened by the strength of our strange connection.

I glanced timidly back up at him, still overwhelmed by the blush-worthy excitement that heated his handsome face.

"I was only nineteen years old at the time," I murmured shyly, not the least bit shamed by my false confession. "I am now twenty and six. Not very much changes for a woman's face during those years, I suppose."

"I have never heard of any woman who could swim quite so well at only nineteen years," he exclaimed, not a twinge of suspicion hidden in his voice.

Secretly relieved that he'd bought into my lie, I laughed and shrugged it off. "I was raised by the sea. Obviously you were not!"

He laughed along with me at my joke. His laughter had a rich, throaty tone to it that suggested a more aged sense of humor. My heart did a flustered dance to the music he made with his laughter.

"I was only a careless stowaway. I knew nothing of the sea except that I wanted more than anything to explore it to the very ends of the earth," he admitted fondly.

Still grinning, I narrowed my eyes at him in mock disapproval. "Then you were dishonest when you told me that you never ran away from your father."

At the mention of this, it was his turn to look embarrassed. "Not since I was a lad." His eyes raised to meet mine, steering me to oblivion with their crystal blue depths. "But I shall never regret running from him now. It brought me to you."

Not knowing what to say, I smiled sadly at him, gripping his sleeves tightly where I still held his arms.

"All my life I've wanted to repay you in some way, and now I finally can," he said, his gaze alight with a hot blue fever. "I owe you my life, Esme," he sighed my name, the piety with which he said it utterly absurd. "If the time should ever arise when I can spare yours, I will do it without a thought."

The scent of his blood combined with the irresistible look on his face caused my lust to burgeon wildly. I just barely concealed a whimper.

"I will serve you in any way you wish," he promised, palming his chest with his hand. "And…if it means we must never see each other again, I will respect that wish." His face fell solemnly as he glanced at the lengthy alley behind me. "I assume that you were about to run again before I stopped you…"

Glancing over my shoulder, I stared at the dark stone and dirt path that stretched on in shadow behind me. In my mind it was true, I had been eager to escape from him and all the temptations that came along with knowing him. But in my heart I was longing to stay by his side, to know him more deeply than any human had ever known him before.

I turned back around to face him and saw the recklessly spirited sixteen-year-old stowaway staring back at me.

He said now that he owed me his life. So if mine was ever in danger, he would be there to save me. This was his foolish promise, and what an ironic promise it was.

My life would never be in danger. But his, I was certain, would. If he chose to spend his time with me, he would be facing hell every minute of every day without even knowing it...

My choices were clear: fulfill my selfish wish to spend every minute by his side while putting him in mortal danger, or bring unimaginable pain to the both of us by running away again?

He was waiting for my answer, my promise. I had to be wise about this, for it could very well be the most important decision I would ever make in my life.

But the more I thought on it, the less clear my wisdom became. Everything with Carlisle seemed to rely on instinct, on visceral feelings and inklings and spur of the moment decisions.

And so, my instinct spoke for itself.

"I will not run."

He grinned, his tumultuous joy filling the air with racing hot blood and perilous passion. I had the ludicrous urge to kiss him, but I miraculously restrained myself.

"Where do we go from here?" he asked in the soft tone of a curious child.

"We will meet again," I said resolutely, shocking myself with my sudden burst of confidence. His eyes blazed with earnest devotion, holding my gaze tightly as he listened for my plan.

"At seven o'clock tomorrow evening." My voice rose with excitement as I devised the plan on the spot. "You will find me at the Gardens of Lucullus in the Villa Borghese." Taking his hand in mine, I flipped it over so that his palm was face up, and using the center of his palm as a template for a map, I drew a vague path to the secret place where we would meet. "Follow the western path until you come to a clearing at the top of the hill between a grove of trees. I will be waiting for you in the Tempio di Diana."

I gently traced a line from his wrist to the tip of his middle finger, and there I paused, on the symbolic place where the garden temple would rest in my makeshift map. My eyes rose to meet his, twin windows to midnight as he stared lovingly at our kissing fingertips.

"Seven o'clock," he repeated, his voice sinfully deep.

I nodded once and neatly curled his fingers inward, encouraging him to protect our secret.

"I will be there."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much for reading! What did you think of Esme's POV? Could this be the start of an epic romantic adventure? Do you think both of them will keep their promise to meet again? <strong>

**Please share your thoughts/complaints/ideas in a review or message! I love hearing from you all, especially about this story since it is so different from what I usually write. I'm really enjoying mixing it up!**

**I'd like to also thank my talented friend Katie for surprising me with some wonderful cover art for this fanfic! You can find the direct link on my profile under the "Special Thanks" section, or copy and paste this link ( ****ht tp : / / katiechandler . deviantart . com / # / d48mkkp**** ) to see her cartoonist's interpretation of "Where Angels Roam the Sea"!**


	6. Into the Dream

**Chapter 6:**

**Into the Dream**

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><p><em>~Carlisle<em>

There was never a time in my life where I felt that good sense had escaped me so effortlessly.

Had I known before that my mysterious Esme was the woman who rescued me from the sea, I would never have let her leave my sight that night in the Piazza Navona.

I should have guessed it the moment I laid eyes on her. I should have seen her soul through that mask. I should have known the heaviness and heat in my heart was telling me something every time I looked into her eyes.

That familiarity that lingered on the peripheral of my memory had taken me aback when she spoke my name.

I cannot describe the way I felt when she pulled back her hood and revealed her face to me. All I knew was that this was the answer to my only prayer since the day she vanished from my world. In less than an instant, she was by my side again. Only this time, I was no longer just a boy who needed to be rescued.

The thrill of seeing her face again was inebriating. At once I felt the bones in my body turn to dust, barely able to hold myself up straight. My heart burst wildly at the summery gold of her eyes and the truth that hid behind them. She smiled at me, a corner smile that made her lush lips look all the more inviting, and I was hypnotized just as I had been the very first time I saw her rising from the sea.

She made me promise to see her again in the Gardens of Lucullus, and though I was only vaguely familiar with the area she had chosen for our meeting, I was willing to find my way anywhere so long as she would be waiting for me. I was rendered speechless as she whispered to me where we would find each other later that night, reveling in the mounting anticipation that raced through my veins as she traced her delicate directions on the center of my palm.

I could not deny that I was nervous to see her again. I still had so many questions for her, so many things I had wondered about her for all those years. That night I hoped that I would find the answers to all those questions that had been building up for seven years. I hoped I would see her as a mystery no longer, that she would open herself up to me, and that she would let me do the same for her.

My nervousness was overcome by a bold excitement when the sun began to set. Simply being reunited with this woman I had dreamed about for years was a whirlwind, but being invited to see her again tonight in the gardens was twice as exhilarating. To think that at one time, back when I was but sixteen years old, I had wondered about this very day – the day I would meet her again – if I could ever make it a reality.

I supposed a young boy had a special sensitivity when it came to the first woman he had developed feelings for. I spent a good part of my afternoon, thinking back on those years of my boyhood where I had envisioned her to be a true angel who watched over me. I thought that perhaps God had only given me the chance to see her once. I asked the Lord over and over to grant me another vision of her beauty, but I was given only the images of my dreams.

Her face would seem to float in front of me as I lay in bed each night, transfixed by her sweet mouth, her calming expression, her ethereal eyes. It was a promising vision that lingered night after night, coming to me when I summoned it, and keeping me company as I drifted into sleep.

Even now, as I prepared myself for the fateful evening ahead, I lay in my bed to rest before my journey, flashing back to those nights when I had done the same as a young boy.

_I was hers_, I thought, a strange tremor rocking my body. I did not know what had possessed me to say it, but it was crystal truth. It was inevitable.

I was hers.

The thought was somehow both frightening and pleasant. I smiled softly as I imagined her face again, only this time I was able to remember so much more than I had when I was younger. Now that I had the fresh memory of her face in my mind, I could recall the precise shade of her hair, the exact placement of the glint in her eyes, the tempting shape of her lips...

Sleep summoned me deftly as I surrendered to the visions, taking me without permission for a precious minute or two. In my dream, I lay not in my bed, but in a field of silky green grass, staring up at the clear blue sky.

The world around me was warm and soft, still reminiscent of the blankets that were tangled around my waist. I groaned, and the sound echoed distantly, still halfway trapped within the webs of sleep. My breath came more harshly, although tranquil bliss seemed to be coursing through my veins.

I tipped my head toward the blue heavens of my dream and felt her presence nearby. With the wispy grass stroking shivers down my bare back, I shifted, taking a breath of cool, sweet air. My heart rose to the surface of my chest, touching my ribs with every gentle thump. I never recalled being so aware of my heartbeat before, even in a dream.

The blue sky above me deepened, the clouds parted, and I waited to see her face form in the mist. But she never appeared. Still, I could sense her so close to me, and so I reached out with my hand, curiously extending my fingers for her to take if she saw me.

"_Esme,"_ I whispered into the looming cerulean sky.

The moment paused for me to take my breath, and though I saw no change in the sky, upon my lips I felt a celestial maiden's delicate kiss…

My eyes closed as I savored the fading sensation, frustrated by its briefness, but fulfilled by its sweetness.

To think that tonight I could be receiving my first _true_ kiss from my rescuer…

I opened my bleary eyes to my darkened bedroom, sweet sinful exhaustion descending into my chest. I no longer could feel her face lingering above me, but I would not need to imagine her any more. I was going to see her tonight, in the flesh.

It was almost too good to be true.

My heart pumped excitedly as I bolted from my bed, nearly breaking the wooden frame in my haste to escape. The sky outside my small window was a dusty purple color, the clearest hint that twilight was arriving in the city.

I could not risk being late for our meeting.

Hurrying around my room, I found the clothes I planned to wear that evening, stripped and ran the washcloth over my body, shivering from the cold water I had left out all day. In under five minutes I was ready to leave, with my satchel on my back as I rushed down the stairs into the kitchen.

Only when I saw and smelled the freshly cooked dinner that had been laid out on the table did I realize how empty my stomach was from neglect.

I had not eaten since that morning.

My eyes followed the firelight to the place where Irina stood by the window, her apron smeared with flour. She dusted off her hands self-consciously and smiled at me over her shoulder.

Her smile fell when she saw that I was prepared to leave.

"I didn't know that you were going out tonight," she said regretfully, glancing from me to the full table in the center of the room. "I made dinner for three," she added, gesturing to the hardy platters of food.

My stomach growled angrily at me to partake in the feast, but my heart was thrashing with the will to leave as soon as possible.

There are times when the stomach is stronger than the heart.

"Oh, I... I don't have to leave right away..." I negotiated, wistfully approaching the table as I let my satchel slide from my arm to the floor.

Irina's smile regained its brilliancy. "Good. I wouldn't want you to leave the house starving, after all."

She untied her apron and flung it over the back of her chair as she sat down across from me.

When she noticed me staring at the last empty seat, she said softly, "Father will be down in a few minutes. He's just washing up."

Something in her tone told me that he would be more than a few minutes. Something also told me that she had planned for him to be a while longer.

I was not interested in her motives at the moment. I was a man with an appetite.

Once my fork slid happily into my plateful of turkey and potatoes, I was quiet for quite a few minutes. I had the distinct feeling that Irina was watching me more than she was eating from her own plate. I always wondered what it was about women that made them forget their appetites while in the presence of a man. It was a curious thing that she seemed more interested that I enjoy my meal, rather than she enjoy her own.

But until my belly was full, this would likely not bother me either.

"Let me get more milk for you," her voice interrupted, sounding oddly distant as I continued to feed myself like Lazarus at the Rich Man's Table. I was vaguely aware of her rising from her seat to refill my goblet.

I finally took the spare moment to lower my fork and thank her properly. "Thank you, Irina. This is perhaps the best dinner I've ever had."

Her hand wavered a bit as she set the goblet back down beside my plate, a pleased smile on her face. The skin of her cheeks became mottled with a blotchy pink, a reaction I had noticed more often as I became more familiar with her. Her blush was not smooth like most women's, but rather clotted and uneven, spreading over her forehead and chin as well. It looked like a temperamental artist had stippled his paintbrush over her skin with pink shades of paint.

Oddly enough, I found it somewhat attractive. Especially when I was the cause of it.

And I had not needed a pink paintbrush to make her blush like that.

"I'm still learning the ways to cook a proper bird," she said bashfully, "but I'm very pleased that you are enjoying it."

I smiled at her in appreciation and felt exceedingly guilty when the splotches of pink on her cheeks deepened.

A moment later, Eleazar walked into the kitchen, limping toward the table with a grin on his face. "I'm not too late, am I?"

Irina swiftly rose from her chair, patting her dress down furiously as she looked between me and her father. "No! Of course not."

I stood briefly to pull out the empty chair for my master. "Please, sit with us."

He nodded at the platter of meat and potatoes with a gleam in his dark eyes. "I hope you saved some for me, boy. I'm famished."

I laughed self-consciously, genuinely hoping there would be enough left for him after I had finished.

Irina just sat back in her chair and smiled, now preoccupied with watching the both of us eat. She did not touch her plate the entire time.

It had been too long since I'd had the chance to sit down and enjoy a full dinner with both Eleazar and his daughter. While I was still a worker in their household, they treated me as their equal and never as the lowly apprentice. For the good while I had been living under their roof, they were beginning to feel more like family to me every day. There was nothing quite like eating in good company when the evening was filled with comfort, conversation, and laughter.

After such a generous meal, I felt the tender grips of slumber creeping upon me. I stretched my arms and yawned, downing my third glass of milk after Irina had set before me a plate full of cranberry bread for dessert.

If she fed me any more I feared I would be sporting a very unflattering belly in the morning.

Still, I could not deny how appealing it was to have a pretty woman waiting on me, caring for me, catering to my every mentioned whim. Irina was a devoted one, though it was clear that she was trying hard – perhaps a bit too much. I did not need so much attention given to me. As a man, I had always been on the more independent side, and as delightful as her company was, I was not sure I belonged in this kind of stationary, settled life. I could not see myself returning to the same home day after day, living through the same events without an ounce of change.

Irina would be more suited to that life than I would. She was bred for domestic purpose. She would make a traditional wife...

I bit my lip as I leaned back in my chair, watching her closely as she conversed animatedly with her father. Her hands never left that jug of milk, for she was constantly refilling our goblets, insistent that neither of us should ever run dry. Her smile was slightly too wide for her face, and one of her ears was scarred from a small burn when she was a child. But in spite of these imperfections, I thought her beautiful. In fact, these qualities only enhanced her beauty in my eyes.

In that moment I stopped making excuses for why Irina would not be a suitable wife for me. Lifting my elbow to the back of my chair, I let my head rest against my fist and drew in a deep breath of the warm kitchen air. This was reality. Irina was right in front of me, almost as if she had been placed before me by God Himself. I was in good favor with her father, set to one day take over his business, and I was trusted by her family. It was almost too simple.

She turned to look at me, reached up to tuck a strand of hair away from her eyes, and smiled shyly.

My heart was momentarily distracted.

Then the clock began to chime.

Once, twice, three times. Four times...

My breath cut short when it hit the fifth. My heart began to race when it hit the sixth. Panic set in when it sang out the seventh.

I was late for my meeting with Esme.

_How could I have been so foolish to forget?_

My body tingled all over as I attempted to remain casual, rising from my chair discreetly while I finished the rest of my drink.

"Not leaving already, Carlisle?" Eleazar inquired, looking curiously up at me from his chair.

"I'm afraid I have made plans for this evening that cannot be cancelled. I'm… meeting an old friend from my childhood tonight."

At least I did not have to lie.

"Oh, how lovely," Irina remarked brightly, almost before I could finish. I could hear the emptiness in her words even though she had tried to mask it. I felt badly that she obviously regretted my early departure.

Truth be told, I would have very much liked to spend the rest of my evening in Irina's company... Just not when I had the chance to spend it in _Esme's _company.

This could very well be a once in a lifetime chance. I had already run my risks in nearly missing out on it.

I had to make haste.

"I'm very sorry that I must leave so soon," I said, extending my hand in sympathy. "Thank you again for the meal, and for the pleasant company."

Eleazar nodded. Irina forced a smile. There was sadness in her eyes.

I made significant eye contact with her before I flung my satchel back over my shoulder and slipped out the door into the dark street. Shaking off the sleepy effects of my dinner, I took in a deep breath of the cool night air and set out for the city stable house down the street.

I had planned to take on the journey by foot that afternoon, but seeing as I was already late, I was not about to head any further if I was not on horseback.

I did not own my own horse, and neither did Eleazar. We had to settle for rented beasts from the city horse keepers. It was not pleasant getting used to a different horse every time I wanted to ride out, but I was desperate tonight, and I was grateful to take the last horse on hand.

She was a sweet, gentle yellow mare. Not very fast, but still agreeable. I was lucky to have made it to the garden gates by half past seven.

I had visited the Gardens of Lucullus only once before, and my visit had been in the light of day. Now with the dark setting in around me, the gardens were eerily enchanting, stretching on for miles ahead behind the high open gates. My mare was reluctant to ground-tie by the gate after I dismounted her, so I spent a few moments stroking her neck in attempt to calm her before leaving her sight.

"I am meeting someone tonight," I whispered to her as I patted her mane. "A woman."

Her black eyes almost seemed to widen in surprise as I revealed my secret. A horse's eyes were so mysteriously acute, somehow so strikingly aware of what was being said. I sometimes believed that horses had extrasensory perception when it came to understanding a man's emotions.

"I hope that she will forgive me for my lateness," I chuckled secretively as I touched my forehead to my horse's nose, and she butted against me gently, as if encouraging me to get moving already.

"You're right, you're right. I'm wasting precious time, aren't I?" I sighed as I stared over my shoulder into the deep dark gardens that awaited me behind the gate. I swallowed hard, privately worried that if I were to venture inside, I might find no one there.

"I suppose I'm just a bit nervous to see her again," I murmured to the wide-eyed mare, adjusting the simple brown ribbon that held my hair behind my shoulders. One wardrobe adjustment led to another, and suddenly I found myself wishing I had taken more time to find finer clothes to wear tonight.

My hands brushed repeatedly down the front of my father's old vest while my horse watched me with a critical stare. I glared back at the animal as I obsessively checked every button down my chest for loose threads.

"Stop staring at me like that," I accused, feeling utterly foolish for talking so defensively to a horse. "It's only that she is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and…" I paused, glancing around to be sure that we were indeed alone before I leaned closer to my horse's twitching ear and hissed, "I _am_ only an apprentice after all."

My mare whinnied softly at my sorry explanation, as if to chastise me for thinking so little of myself. I stood back with a sigh and placed my hands on my hips, reluctantly reconsidering my words as I remembered the way Esme had spoken to me earlier that morning, the way her eyes had twinkled when she realized who I was…

"Do you think _she_ sees me as only an apprentice?" I asked timidly.

Golden mare cocked her head and made a harsh snuffling sound which I assumed to be a 'no.'

I grinned.

"I don't think so either," I admitted, rubbing my knuckles appreciatively under her chin. She nudged against my hand and whinnied in agreement.

It was rather amazing how a simple conversation with a perfectly silent animal could lift my confidence so much. Without wasting a moment longer, I whispered farewell to my horse and slipped behind the garden gate. With a quick hand I tied the laces of my boots and headed up the path in search of the place where I hoped my angel would be waiting for me.

I wished I had brought a compass with me, for it was rather difficult navigating the winding paths between the hedges in the darkness. Trees loomed overhead in an endless canopy of leaves, shading me from the beams of moonlight that would have helped to light my way. But I was determined to find her, wherever she might be.

After a few minutes of searching I began to worry that she had left early, thinking I was not going to show. My lateness could have been the cause of her absence, and this thought broke my heart. If this was the case, I would never have the chance to redeem myself or ask to meet her again another night. This was my only chance. I had only tonight.

A cold wind swept around me, causing me to shiver with worry as I glanced frantically around in the dark. Sinewy marble statues stood, silhouetted against a backdrop of gloomy trees and vines on either side of my narrow path. I had a vague sense of which direction I was facing, and something told me that I was still on the right track to find the Tempio di Diana.

Desperate for any kind of confirmation, I lifted up my hand with my palm open to retrace the map she had drawn on me. I remembered the path her finger had taken, from my wrist to the tip of my middle finger, where she had left the mark for our meeting place, both on my skin and in my memory.

Just one glance at my hand refreshed that memory in an instant. Suddenly I knew exactly where I was. I turned to the right, entering a dark passage between the hedges. Once I came to the end, I found the grand fountain that marked the center of the gardens. From here I could better gauge which direction I was facing by looking at the compass rose drawn in the mosaic of tiles on the ground.

I remembered she had told me to follow the western path, so my feet found the path marked by the western symbol on the tile. From there on the air grew sweet with the scents of bursting blossoms in the night as I followed the stone path up to the promised clearing at the top of the hill. My feet were pleasantly sore from all the walking I'd been doing, and by the time I saw the silhouette of the temple peeking out from between the circle of tall pines, relief all but rendered my knees weak.

The faint blue glow of deepening twilight sparkled outward from behind those trees at the top of the hill. Beckoning me forward like a whispered promise, I was drawn toward it, following the light into my personal heaven.

I could see her now, standing on the steps to the temple, clutching her thin blue cloak around her body. Her hair shimmered in the night, flowing around her shoulders in long glossy tendrils. Her face, even from afar, was breathtaking. Her lips were like wild roses and her eyes were like droplets of honey.

My lungs were aching and my feet were burning by the time I made it to the top of that hill. I arrived before her, breathless and speechless as I always seemed to be in her presence.

When I at last stood at the base of those steps, she discarded her cloak and revealed the soft white gown that she wore beneath. Her graceful, lithe body looked all the more heavenly in only white. The gown fell around her legs like a waterfall of frost, so long that she had to clutch a handful of fabric to take a step forward. Her sleeves were sheer, clinging around her pale arms like a second layer of skin. At the wrists they bloomed outward like wilting petals of a lily, drawing my gaze to her perfect fingers.

The air felt filled with magic, from the rays of the early moon to the inebriating perfume of the flowers that surrounded us. Esme's presence had given the place its missing touch. Now it was truly the work of art its maker had intended it to be.

How I wanted to take her and love her, right here and now, with all of the flowers watching us...

"I was beginning to think you had changed your mind," she whispered, her voice like a fire to warm the cool night.

I briefly thought back to my silly conversation with my horse from before and smiled at my foolish secret. As my gaze locked longingly to Esme's exquisite face, all I could do was shake my head.

"Never."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank goodness he didn't decide to back out at the last minute, huh? I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I know plenty of you were hating on Irina last time, so have your opinions of her stayed the same? Is she getting on our nerves already? And how could Carlisle overeat at dinner and almost forget to meet his Esme? Alas, in this story, he <strong>_**is**_** only human… ;) **


	7. Kiss of Fate

**Chapter 7:**

**Kiss of Fate**

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><p><em>~Esme<em>

The simple knowledge that I would be seeing Carlisle again tonight made all the difference to my mood when I came back to Volterra.

I had always prided myself in being an expert at keeping secrets. I made my face a mask to the rest of the world, hiding my true emotions behind a pair of unfazed eyes and an impassive tone of voice. However, the sheer mirth I felt from knowing I would be meeting one particular man later that night was almost impossible to hide.

Even as I entered the black gates of our palace and made my way through the silent courtyard, I wondered if the rest of the Volturi could sense that something was different in my demeanor. I wondered if they could see my genuine jubilation through my forcibly stony exterior.

The hours could not go by quickly enough. I was watching the clock, counting the seconds as I paced unproductively through the courtyard, wishing there was some way I could make the colors of the sky change faster.

My hands were restless, my fingers picking at the vines that crawled up the stone walls. My feet were just as anxious, tapping against the marble tiles in the veranda as I made my idle rounds. My dead heart was fluttering just at the thought of leaving this place behind to meet Carlisle again that night.

The balance of my anxiety shifted suddenly when the presence of another vampire threatened the safety of my solitude. I glanced over my shoulder as the wind picked up gently, drawing my attention to the generous silhouette which stood in the darkened archway.

I held my breath as Felix stepped around the gate and into the courtyard.

He was so attentive, so disturbingly aware of my whereabouts at all times. It unsettled me that he always seemed to know where I was. He had a habit of turning up when I least desired his company.

His broad face broke into a suspiciously knowing grin that any other woman would consider sinfully attractive. However, in all the years I had been forced to share a home with the man, I knew better. His exterior, like all other vampire men, was irresistible. But on the inside, he was a shallow, conceited, ungrateful monster.

"Where were you this morning?" he asked, his deep voice sending an unpleasant shudder through me.

Before I could panic, I calmed my expression and turned around fully to face him, leaning casually against the wall.

I scoffed. "I don't know why you think that is any of _your _business."

With the practiced gait of an arrogant bastard, he sauntered over to me and leaned his arm against the wall beside me, hovering with a look of strange glee on his face. "You've hardly been around at all lately. I only wonder where you've been sneaking off to."

"Who says I've been sneaking?" I challenged, crossing my arms defensively over my chest.

"It's obvious you don't want anyone to inquire you about it. Why else would you avoid talking about where you have been going?" he retorted. As much as I believed Felix to be all muscle and no mind, sometimes he had moments where his intelligence served him well, and I hated him for it.

"It's no secret where I've been going," I answered flippantly, playing it smooth. "I've been visiting Rome for the past week."

The best way to combat suspicion was to simply tell the truth.

"Ah..." He looked skyward, as if he were thinking hard about all the reasons I might be traveling to Rome so often. "And why the sudden interest in Roma?"

I sent him a saccharine smile as I kicked him lightly in the shin. "I find that the people there make more appealing company than those here in Volterra."

"We can surely change that."

His words were sexually charged, and the nature of his advance echoed the tone of his voice as he stepped forward to cover me in his shadow.

An unpleasant lurch filled my stomach as I stepped back and gave him a hard, icy stare. He knew better than to override my clear discouragement. When I did not want something, I would not take it. I had spent enough of my human life being controlled by men. I made a vow to myself that I would never let a man control me again in this life. Instead, I would control them.

So far I had been successful.

It helped a great deal that, deep down, I knew Felix was truly weaker than I was.

His grin faded into a rigid sneer as he saw the disinterest in my glaring eyes.

Before he could utter another word, Sulpicia emerged from the palace gate, entering the courtyard with an air of duty about her. She carried herself gracefully to where we stood, her eyes fixed on us both, piecing together what had happened from the looks on our faces and our opposing stances.

"Is everything well out here?"

I never took my eyes away from Felix, but his eyes wandered nervously as Aro's wife approached us, her normally sweet voice like a rock.

"Felix, darling? You seem a bit troubled."

He winced at her patronizing tone and shook his head without a word as he stalked off the courtyard, leaving us two women together.

"Thank you," I murmured gratefully as soon as Felix was out of sight. I did not care if he heard me. In fact, I hoped he would. "How is it you always manage to have such perfect timing?" I asked Sulpicia with a small smile.

She responded with a wry smile of her own. "I can sense when one of my sisters is trapped in an unpleasant situation." She pushed her long silvery blond hair behind her shoulder and shrugged. "It is something of a gift."

My smile weakened as I considered how often my moments with Felix had to be interrupted in order to "rescue" my honor. Continuously I dodged his advances, and yet he still was unable to read my distaste for him. Secretly I feared one day he would resort to force with me.

"Esme? Is there more going on here that I am unaware of?" Her question made me freeze warily. "You seem more distant lately...but you do not seem as unhappy as I've known you to be." Her face scrunched in confusion as she stared at me. "I know this change has nothing to do with Felix. You are...distracted by something. Forgive me for my concern, but as your friend I am curious."

Sulpicia had always been the most sensitive of the Volturi, but this also made her the most aware. She seemed to know my feelings just by one glance in my direction. As useful as this ability could be, it was also quite dangerous. I worried that if anyone could somehow catch me in my secret escapades, it was Sulpicia.

"If there _has_ been a significant change in my demeanor, I am unaware of it," I offered with a shrug. I put on my most convincing face of honesty, and I was vain enough to believe she bought the act. "Everything is the same as it always has been."

Sulpicia narrowed her thin blond eyebrows and leaned slightly closer, as if she could see into my mind.

Fortunately for me, no vampire I knew had the gift of mind reading.

"Very well. If you say nothing is wrong, then nothing is wrong. I know you would be honest with me if you ever needed my help."

My heart broke a little bit as she solidified her support in spite of my insistence. She seemed to be giving me a hidden hint through her words, one that I could neither ignore nor deny. For a moment I almost considered telling her about Carlisle…

But that would have destroyed my last chance of ever meeting him again.

So I kept quiet, thanked my friend, and continued to pace the courtyard until the seventh hour fell.

-}0{-

Waiting in the courtyard in Volterra had been frustrating at best. Waiting in the Gardens of Lucullus, however, was utterly agonizing.

I was unable to keep still at all as I paced beneath the dark shadows of the Tempio di Diana. The marble pillars around me may as well have been the bars of a prison, keeping me locked to one place though I itched to run about the gardens and look for him myself.

I knew by the look of the sky that it was well past seven o' clock, and still he was nowhere to be seen.

Knowing his scent would have been the first clue I would pick up, I kept my sense of smell on alert, drinking the air more deeply with every breath in the hopes that I would catch even the slightest hint of his sweetness.

My chest became more bitterly empty with every passing minute. At the beginning of the evening it seemed impossible that he would not show up tonight. In fact, the thought had not even crossed my mind once. But his lateness at this point was inexcusable. Either something had happened, or he had forgotten me.

Or worse...

He had changed his mind about meeting me.

Out of all the reasons that could have kept him away this night, not one brought comfort to my heart.

If he was in danger, how would I know? If he had forgotten our meeting entirely, what did that say about my importance to him? If he had changed his mind and chosen not to meet with me, what could have caused him to second guess my trustworthiness?

I had never been more nervous for one person to arrive before in my life. My hands were wringing constantly, almost enough to chafe my indurate skin. The night wore on around me, growing darker and deeper, taunting my hopes that a figure might emerge from the shadows with blond hair and blue eyes...

Just before I could cross the bridge of panic, I heard the trotting sound of a distant horse approaching from the hills. No path in the country was wide enough to accommodate a carriage, so I assumed it could only have carried one man. My heart swelled with a daring hope as I peeked out through my marble prison and inhaled the waking night.

He was coming to me. It was unmistakable.

So far, yet so strong. His scent consumed me from the inside out, a delightful challenge to my control as it made my thirst blaze mildly in my throat. I prepared myself mentally for when he would arrive, so anxious to see him that counting the minutes suddenly was not enough. I forced myself to count the seconds instead.

The evening thrummed back to life, and the darkening sky no longer seemed threatening. The sleek gradient of royal blue creeping over the horizon was now a most welcome sight.

All worries for why he was so late were cast out of my mind as my eagerness to hear his voice and see his face overran my better judgment. Without a thought, I leapt from my hiding spot in the garden temple, our chosen meeting place, and ventured out into the hedged path.

I wanted desperately to find him before he found me. But I would not let him see me if I did; I wanted _him _to come to _me_, still. With this tentative plan in mind, I darted my way back through the path of rose urns to the North entrance of the gardens. My head was spinning frantically as my eyes glanced obsessively from shadow to shadow, thinking anything that moved might possibly be _him. _

I could smell him, even closer now. My venom was flowing and the temperature of the night air was steadily rising. The energy in the earth beneath my feet was alight with new life, all because he was on his way to me.

My ears picked up the faintest sound of his horse gruffing as it made its way up the very last hill, and the mild voice of my beloved as he encouraged the animal through the final stretch.

I ducked behind a nearby tree with generous girth to hide while I watched the gates for him to arrive.

He did not know I was watching him. I grinned in the darkness and clutched tightly to the tree that protected me from his sight.

Slowly, his horseback silhouette was conjured by the restless ocean of shadows beyond the garden gate. I watched as his sleepy-eyed mare struggled to trot the rest of the way up the hill. I quickly became impatient with the beast, regretful that she had to be so slow on her hooves.

In spite of his obvious lateness, Carlisle did not appear as impatient with his horse's pace.

I smirked to myself when I saw the endearingly simple clothes he had chosen to wear for this evening. He wore the ensemble of a humble traveler, and there was something so delightfully refreshing about the way he did not try to hide beneath jeweled cloaks and other fineries. He was so different from the men I knew in Volterra.

Carlisle did not hide anything, nor should he. He was most beautiful like this, in his loose chalky-white peasant shirt and faded breeches and worn-in boots. Something about him was so second-hand and slightly disheveled, as if he had traveled across the country for two days straight to see me. He was so wonderful, so raw, so avant garde. Like one of those perplexing works of art that is simply thrown together, but is regarded as a masterpiece.

When at last he arrived at the gate, I could see his face more clearly in the light of the stillborn moon. Even from a distance, my eyes were so skilled that they missed not one single detail. Every part of his appearance was more lovely than I'd remembered.

A seductive breeze weaved his appealing scent through the strands of my hair and around my body, forcing his aroma to cling to my clothes and skin. I swallowed hard and stopped my breath for a moment, reminding myself that he was perfectly capable of finding me on his own, and I did not have to linger here any longer.

If I was to keep our promise, I had to return to our meeting place.

My legs carried me swiftly back the way I'd come, through the elaborate maze of emerald shrubbery and marble arches. Behind me I could hear the distant murmur of his voice as he chatted to his horse about something or other, and a fond smile crossed my lips. I stopped only when I reached the waiting temple, taking my post where I could keep vigil on the night from a place of safety.

Even beneath the low hum of his voice, I could still hear his heartbeat from this far away.

It echoed wonderfully through the garden, becoming one with every living thing that called this place its home. It was a promising pulse for the plants, a romantic rhythm for the lonely yet beautiful night.

He could not find me fast enough.

Every time I thought I heard his heartbeat growing louder, it seemed to drift off again when he took a wrong turn or backtracked his own steps. I became frustrated when I heard his hesitant footsteps along the path, silently encouraging him to take the right direction though I knew it did no good. He would simply have to find his way here on his own.

Then, at last, after an agonizing year's worth of endless minutes, he appeared at the very end of the western path.

I caught his scent as he approached from the darkness. My enhanced vision offered me a view of his spectacular blue eyes, guileless and captivated under the stripping moonlight. He walked with the gait of an inexperienced soldier – quick and reckless, yet with a keen sense of direction. He knew where I was. Even in the dark, he seemed to know.

The perfume of his blood grew stronger as he came nearer to my hiding place. His essence mixed in with the billowing fragrance of night flora, a spellbinding combination that nearly made me lightheaded. Though he was still at a distance, I could almost feel his body heat from afar.

I desperately wanted him by my side. Soon.

I stepped out from the shadows and allowed the moon to spot me in the night. Carlisle's innocent eyes brightened with excitement, and a knee-weakening smile broke across his handsome face.

He began to sprint up the grassy hill, his glorious blond hair rippling wildly in the wind as his legs carried him faster.

Lord, I was so dangerous for him. Yet he was running toward me as if nothing could put a hitch in his pace... And I loved him for it.

I was ready to take him into my arms and clamp my teeth into that strong, sweet neck of his.

But I held myself rigid and smiled back at him as if nothing was wrong. Whenever I began to doubt my control, I forced myself to remain calm on the outside, and slowly that tranquility would fill me from the inside as well.

His spirited sprint slowed as he came to the crest of the hill that separated us, panting from the pace. The movements of his body were exquisitely fascinating to my eyes, as I thought of how humans had to do such hard work to get from one place to another. The work he had done throughout his life showed in the build of his chest, arms, and legs. I remembered fondly how skinny he had been when I pulled him from the sea. He was just a child then.

How beautifully he had changed...

A shiver ran through me as I watched him reach the steps to the garden temple where I was waiting for him, and my hands crept up to the top of my cloak to slowly draw the fabric away. I silently showed him the gown I wore beneath it, pleased with the way his fiery blue eyes seemed to linger along my body. Only this man was capable of making me feel so deliciously vulnerable, even when I knew I had more strength than fifty human men combined.

He made me question my strength in just one glance.

"I was beginning to think you had changed your mind," I said with a small, cheeky smile.

He smiled back at me like he was hiding something, and the expression was so infuriating, yet so sweet. He shook his head and whispered, "Never."

I was somewhat astounded by his devotion to me. I could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. Even the way he was standing, always leaning slightly toward me...

I was not even trying to lure him in. He was not my prey, but I did feel that he held a missing part of me, a part that had been hidden for much of my life.

"What took you so long to find me?" I asked him tentatively, winding my arm seductively around a marble pillar. I peeked coyly over at him from the shadows and blinked innocently as I waited for him to answer.

He bent his head sheepishly and blushed, causing my throat to burn. "I did not keep you waiting on purpose, I promise." He shuffled his foot a little bit before elaborating. "I suppose you could say I was simply...sidetracked."

"You mean to say that you have poor sense of direction?" I guessed, not bothering to hide my smile.

His blush deepened and I held my breath.

"Dismal is a more appropriate word."

I chuckled, dark but gentle, as he redeemed himself with a grin.

"Come up here," I beckoned him with the last of my bated breath, gesturing for him to join me under the dark pavilion.

His heartbeat quickened slightly as he scaled the three shallow steps with a single stride, the sound of his boots scuffing against the marble strangely satisfying as he came nearer.

I backed into the shadows, out of the moonlight, and he followed me obediently until we were both standing in the center of the ancient temple. The endless symphony of night birds and crickets was still not enough to drown out the steady drumbeat of Carlisle's heart.

Even then I was sure I had never heard another human's heart quite like his before. It was forceful, but not overpowering. It seemed to speak of his diligence, very much the heart of a hard-working man. There was such determination in this fine organ that hid inside his chest, a mysterious intensity that gave the pronounced rhythm a spirited flair. I believed it was this unmistakably vivid strength of his heart which set it apart from all the others; this which called my attention to it even in the crowded city square on First Night. Carlisle's heart beat more faithfully than the rest of them. His heart was zealous and aggressive in a curiously humble and gentle way.

His heart knew its purpose. It gave him strength, it gave him energy, it gave him _life. _

Oh, how I was fascinated by his heart.

Here in the shadows of these rich, deep gardens, I was shamelessly obsessed with it.

"I feel like I should be telling you a secret," I blurted suddenly. My voice was quiet, but I had a feeling that my hidden passion was not.

His brilliant blue eyes widened by the slightest margin, like a curious ocean preparing to swallow me whole. "Why don't you?" he whispered, stepping closer to me in the dark.

He was expecting too much from me, too soon. I was about to burst just having him this close, and he expected me to tell him the very reason we were both still here. My chest tightened bitterly.

"I am afraid that you might not like what I tell you," I replied honestly. I expected his face to fall in regret, but he did not give up so easily. Instead his expression was the very emblem of awakened fervor.

"Chances are in your favor that I will _love _what you tell me." His voice was loaded with the very love of which he spoke, letting me taste what I could not yet have. Already, he was positively lusting after my secrets.

I smirked at him in utter disbelief.

"I know men do not like to be told that they are naïve," I said slowly, surveying him from head to foot with scrutinous eyes. "But you, Carlisle, are possibly the most naïve young man I have ever met."

At this, his lips broke into an almost sinister smile, another reaction I was not expecting. I wondered if he had even heard a single word I'd just said.

"I must confess that is not the sort of secret I was expecting you to share with me," he chuckled bluntly, strange smile still in place.

"That is because it was _not _the secret I mentioned before..." I murmured wearily, regretful that I had led him to believe I was not taking this seriously.

He obviously noticed the swift shift in my demeanor.

"There must be a reason you asked me to come here tonight." His smile melted slightly as the light in his eyes grew dim with dejection. "Was it only to prove that I was naïve enough to obey your request?"

I shook my head slowly. "No, that was not it," I whispered, searching his face.

The night around us suddenly seemed colder.

He cocked his head in curiosity, bowing his head slightly to better meet my eyes. "Then why are we here?"

"Because we both want to be," I answered simply, softly. "Neither of us can deny that."

He again smiled slightly, some of that vivid blue light returning to his gaze. "I feel that destiny is pulling me toward you, Esme," he confessed. My heart warmed with gladness and appreciation that he felt the same way as I did. "I believe it has been a force in my life since you brought me back to shore that morning by the sea..."

He drifted off into a whisper, barely able to finish his sentence as his heart pounded on like the footsteps of a valiant soldier racing off to war. I watched the tantalizing stream of muscle ripple in his neck as he swallowed his words, once again fighting the sensational urge to bite into his sweet flesh.

I covered my nose and mouth discreetly, excusing the shield as a gesture of innocent shyness. From behind my hand, I whispered back to him, "Sometimes I think I may feel the same way."

I should have known by now that any agreement of mine would only feed his enthusiastic passion. His eyes, drunk with excitement, grew wide and eager as he leaned down closer to my height, and his hot hands reached out to gently clasp my sleeves.

"We should meet this way every night," he proposed, his words quick, eager, and dangerously enthusiastic about the idea. The look on his face was so frustratingly enticing, from the way his dimples danced on the corners of his lips to the way his cheeks became magically tainted with a thrilling pink flush.

His sweet human breath fanned across my face as he took one labored inhale after the other, awaiting my response to his daring proposition.

"I don't know if I _can_ meet you here every night," I sighed regretfully, hating that I had to dampen his spirits so soon.

He looked for a moment as if he did not believe what he'd just heard. His face was crestfallen, as if all his dreams had been dashed with one word.

"Why not?" His voice was so small it sounded like a child's.

His hands raised from their loose grasp on my elbows to hold my arms twice as firmly, using the tight heat of his touch to try and convince me to stay with him.

"My...family would not approve of me wandering out of the house at night to visit a strange man," I said ruefully. It sounded at least partly legitimate, something he could not likely question.

"They do not have to know," he suggested, his body heat suffocating me as he leaned even closer.

I swallowed the venom that had been furiously building up beneath my tongue and tried pushing him gently away from me.

"But they will find out," I said sadly. "They always do."

"Then rebel against them," he whispered, making such a severe order sound like the breath before a lullaby. His hands only gripped me tighter when I tried to discourage contact. "Do not listen to them when they tell you how to live your life. Listen to your heart instead."

His words stung me in their irony, knowing I found it so much easier to listen to _his _heart than my own. I secretly envied the healthy pulsing song of his heart, one that mine would never sing again.

"You listen to your heart often, don't you, Carlisle?" I asked him wearily.

His expression was anything but weary when he gazed back at me.

"It is what led me back to you, is it not?"

"It is also what led you to nearly drown in the sea seven years ago," I reminded him cheekily, deviating somewhat from the serious curve of our conversation.

We both shared a secretive smirk.

"Yes...And you were the one who rescued me," he noted boldly, pressing his chest with the palm of his hand before he extended it slowly toward me. "And now you are back in my life. What more of a sign do you want, Esme? By God, the heavens have spoiled us!"

As he spoke, that spark of energetic heat rose again in his voice, in his eyes.

This man's passion was unceasing.

His body was so fantastically full of life, of energy, of boundless colors and textures. Oh, I imagined I could feed off of him endlessly... But I would sooner perish than give myself that chance.

_The heavens have spoiled us! _

His words seemed to echo in my head as they sparkled in his stirring blue eyes. I swallowed a tough lump of anxiety and struggled slightly as he grasped me gently around both wrists, pulling me nearer against my will.

"Have they now?" I asked belatedly, doubting the heavens had done much in the past to spoil me. I tried once again to pull away from him, dragging him along with me to the edge of the raised marble floor.

His face softened strangely as we stumbled awkwardly out of the shadows and into the moonlight, his heart thumping tenderly as his eyes took in the details of my lit face.

His delicate lips shone invitingly as he parted them to speak. "Oh, if only you knew how often I dreamed of seeing you again..."

I wished I could tell him how often I'd thought of _him_, that I'd never forgotten him either for as long as I'd lived. I already found the notion of leaving him again impossible to withstand. He was making it worse every second as he stared at me that way, with his untamed passion flooding from every pore of his being.

Before I could back away from the moonlight, he lifted a finger to gently stroke his knuckle down my cheek. I tensed, unable to fully enjoy the heartbreaking gentleness of his touch while I was so worried that the coldness of my skin would frighten him away.

But nothing in his eyes changed as he touched me. If anything, he only looked more fascinated, more pleased.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his words heavy and deep.

The temptation to consume him, both his love and his flesh, was intoxicating. As he touched me, I felt my desire grow twice as intense. I hated to hold my breath so often, but it was becoming more than necessary if I wished to control myself around him.

Sometimes he was simply too much for my restraint.

As his fingers passed over my cheek I could only think how sweet each one would taste if I bit them, one after the other. Those strong, lean, diligent fingers...

My imagination must have been exceptionally vivid tonight, for not a moment after I thought of it, the taste was on the tip of my tongue, melding against my lips with a heat incomparable to the sun. The sweet, salty tartness of human flesh blazed in my mouth, and I felt like I was floating with the stars in the heavens.

I summoned the dangerous daydream to end, but it did not.

I could not escape it no matter how hard I tried. I could not release myself from the dream because it was not a dream.

It was really happening.

But it was not the taste of his fingers that lingered on my tongue.

He was kissing me.

This bold, vivacious, _human_ man.

He had leaned down to match my height, bent at the neck, breathing violently as if he had just swam a mile to shore on stormy waters. His lips moved slowly against my own with the lazy rhythm of a practiced artist, offering me a sea of unmentionable sensations, seizing me from head to toe. The soft, simple touch of his lips on mine was so unassumingly luxurious, so rich with undeniable tenderness and trust. I had underestimated him.

He was even more dangerous than I thought.

The sensation of his kiss carried itself through my entire body, settling somewhere in the surface of my thighs. My legs quivered as I backed away from his heat, abruptly breaking his precious kiss. I mourned the loss of it even as I chided myself for indulging his advance in the first place.

He whimpered sharply in protest, the helpless and reluctant sound making me ache even more to continue the blissful communion of our lips. But I was not shy in using force to keep him at bay as he fought passionately for a sly reunion.

"Wait, please!" I ordered him breathlessly, placing both hands on his chest. His muscles were wound so tightly they felt about to snap straight across, and his blood was racing so wildly that his veins were in danger of exploding. It seemed a miracle that he was able to contain himself when he was all but bursting at the seams. As much as I hated to be the one to reign him in, it was for my own good that I did it. "We must be rational about this, Carlisle."

He looked as if someone had just torn his heart straight out of his chest and trampled it into a million tiny pieces.

"What could be more rational than _this..._?" His voice was husky, like smoke from a low burning fire, as he stole one my hands and pressed it to his mouth. His eyes never left mine as he kissed it thoroughly, slow and sensual and suggestive in the moonlight.

I yanked my hand away, thankful that he was at least too distracted with all of his reckless kissing to notice how icy my skin was.

"Carlisle, listen to me!" I hissed at him, hiding my hands behind my back. "We may feel as though we've known each other for a lifetime, but we are truly complete strangers, and we both know that." I lowered my voice further, hoping he might come to think of our relationship as being taboo if I emphasized it enough. "Think about it. It is too soon for us to feel this way about each other!"

I should have known he would argue me before even thinking it through.

"It is never too soon to feel love for someone," he argued, his voice gravelly.

"You do not really love me. You barely know me." I tried to glare at him, but I knew my eyes would only ever be filled with tenderness when they looked at him.

"I feel as if I know you more deeply than I've ever known any other woman before," he murmured hurriedly, shaking his head so that the blond strands swept across his ears, becoming disheveled. "I know that it sounds absurd, but I could not be more true to my words. I am an honest man, Esme. If what I feel for you is genuine, than I am not ashamed or afraid to say it."

I bit my lip hard, feeling as if I could cry. His words moved me so deeply, but it killed me that I could not reveal the depth of their effect on me. I did not dare speak in reply, only shook my head idly in refute.

"I know what I feel for you _must_ be real," he said, his soft tone profuse with passion. He moved closer to me, bending his head so that his lips were nearly level with my own again as he whispered, "I feel the earth tremble when I confess it."

I whimpered at his words, clutching my throat pointlessly to try and contain my growing thirst. My control was slipping fast, with every sentence he uttered. I knew that I inspired lust in him as well, but it was not the same. The lust he felt for me was gentle, different from the lust I had ignited in other human men. Their feelings were always soiled and perverse. Carlisle's eyes were just as fierce in their fire, but the flames felt like silk instead of knives...

"Do not speak like that," I chided through my teeth, weakening as his arm wrapped around me to keep me from leaving. I could not let myself give into him, but in that moment I truly felt as if I hadn't any choice.

"Do not recoil in fear at my words," he admonished me right back, his stance strong. "The truth should not frighten. It should bring comfort..."

I barely managed to mutter one last, feeble "_please_" before he deftly captured my unwitting mouth in a sudden kiss. The sensation was stronger this time, his lips no longer as shy in their delightful dance. I clung to him as he kissed me, surrendering for a few precious seconds even as I knew I would have to let him go. The thought was bittersweet enough to force a tear to my eye.

"Do you feel nothing when I kiss you?" he whispered, an underlying challenge buried beneath the sadness in his voice.

His innocent question was a curse.

I felt _everything _when he kissed me. His heat, his strength, his irrational love for me, all melding together in one overwhelming touch as his lips brushed against mine. It had the power to render me crippled, but at the same time, it seemed to lift me up to heights I never imagined I could reach on my own.

I burned from the inside, wishing I could speak the truth of my feelings for him as I lingered in his arms. I could not even catch my breath out of fear that I would break from the temptation.

He stared hard at my face, his blue eyes fierce, his jaw tightening with regret the longer I remained speechless.

"This was not what I had intended to happen tonight," I finally spoke, forcing the emotion to fade from my voice.

Bright, glossy tears glistened in the corners of his eyes, washing away the hope from his gaze.

"I am sorry," he whispered pitifully as he let go of my arms and stepped away. I felt a sharp, bitter coldness replace the sweet warmth of his grip.

My instincts begged me to reach out to him, but I stopped myself just in time. I could not encourage him no matter how tempting it might be...

"There is no need to be sorry," I told him. "You are a man of reckless passion, Carlisle. You let your heart control your mind."

"But I know that my heart is _right_."

He was hopeless.

"You know nothing about me – only what you remember from seven years ago," I emphasized, trying desperately to keep a grip on my patience. "I am not right for you. Not in _that_ way."

He looked pained at first, but then a new frantic hope filled his face.

"Then I shall contain myself if you promise to stay, Esme. Please, I beg of you. Let me prove myself to you. I will do anything."

His insufferable eagerness was beginning to wear on me. It was too beautiful for words, the way he became so set on something, so devoted, and so engrossed in that devotion. It frustrated me and angered me, and made me feel so fully, utterly loved.

"You don't understand, do you?" I whimpered, clawing the ends of his baggy sleeves with my fingers in frustration.

"You are right, I should not have moved so quickly with you." He rushed frantically through the words, seeking instant redemption from me. "Forgive me, and we can begin again—"

"It is too late, Carlisle." I all but stamped my foot down. "We have fooled ourselves into thinking this was possible, when it simply isn't."

"Why? Why is it not possible for there to be something real between us, Esme? What obstacle can we not overcome together?" His eyes raised to the moon as he considered all the possible hindrances to our relationship. "Is it your family? Our age differences? My...circumstances...?"

His face dimmed with immediate regret as he whispered the last reason. His gaze was like stone when it came back to me, his lips hanging open, a deeply hurt expression coloring his lovely features.

I panicked, worried that I had offended him. "No! No, Carlisle. It has nothing to do with—"

"Do you think because I am only a poor apprentice I have nothing to offer you?"

"I never _once _thought that, Carlisle," I refuted fervently. "I am thinking only of my own shortcomings. You must believe me when I tell you: I am not _good _for you."

I was growing tired of saying it that way. It was too vague, and it would never satisfy him as a reasonable excuse. But it was the only way I could say it without revealing what I was. It would ruin his memory forever if he were to find out that the woman who saved his life was really a monster.

"Please do not let it end this way," he begged, his voice suddenly soft and helpless. "We've only just met again after seven years. We deserve this second chance."

"I wish I could say I felt the same," I whispered gravely.

His face went from passive to lovingly aggressive in a matter of seconds.

"I think that you do. I see it in your eyes. But you are afraid of something. You don't want me to see, but I _can _see it."

His breath came steady and strong as he stared boldly at me, unwavering in his intense gaze. Feeling the pressure to cave and confess, I gritted my teeth and stepped threateningly back toward the shadows.

"Do not make me run away from you again, Carlisle."

He stepped right back into my circle of safety, one solid leather boot nudging the foot of my delicate white slipper as he claimed the territory as much his own.

"You rescued me, Esme. I want to spend my life fulfilling that debt to you. I _want _you to be in my life, whether or not we choose to become something more one day..."

I swallowed my venom and pressed a quelling hand to his chest. "I cannot let you do that."

His heart fluttered in frustration beneath my palm, and I let my hand fall away. Under the moon, his eyes sparkled like dewy blue diamonds in the night. He looked so lost, so heartbroken, so hopeless.

"At least give me peace of mind," he pleaded, a soft sob piercing the word _'peace' _as he spoke it. A tiny teardrop clung desperately to his lashes, fighting to keep from falling. "Allow me to see you again...?"

I felt as if the ground were caving in slowly beneath me. I deserved to be swallowed whole.

"I cannot make a promise that you will see me again. But I can promise that I will always do what I believe is right, in order to protect you."

Even the promise in my words was not enough to reassure him. I did not blame him. It did not even bring comfort to my own heart. I could only imagine how awful he must have felt.

It was with lead in my stomach and thirst mercilessly stinging my throat that I gave him my last, bitter parting words.

"Please do not follow me. Do not look for me. Carry on with your life, Carlisle, and do not linger in the past. Bask in the blessings you have been given."

His face was enough to make me change my mind. His raw, masculine beauty, the brightness of his eyes, the trembling of his lips. His scent, like a tenacious silk ribbon, wrapping itself around me every time I breathed.

I did not know what I believed I could accomplish by bringing him here tonight. Looking back on my decision to come here and meet him again, I could not even fathom why I had encouraged him in the first place.

It was so unfair for me to twist my every promise to him, only because I was unable to commit to my control. I feared more for his life than for my sanity. One day, he would thank me for leaving him when I had the chance to.

I took one step away from where he stood, and he could do nothing but watch me with the same empty look on his face. He was numb, in shock, frozen still as a statue in the shadow.

I could not believe that I had left him lost and alone in the gardens that night, with no way to contact me and no hope to see me again.

But somehow I knew with all my heart that I had done only what I thought would keep him safe. Sometimes it was safer not to pursue love if it meant risking life.

In my heart I knew that I had not abandoned him; it was my faith in myself that had abandoned us both.

The strong, faithful beat of my sailor boy's heart faded behind me as I ran off into the night.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: I never said their love story was going to be an easy one! Esme has a lot still to think about before she commits herself to a human man. As appealing as she finds Carlisle, she is still a vampire and poses a severe danger to his life and safety. We'll see how Carlisle reacts to her behavior in the next chapter. Thanks so much for reading!_**


	8. Temptation's Toll

**Chapter 8:**

**Temptation's Toll**

* * *

><p><em>~Carlisle<em>

It is a bitter sting, that of rejection. More bitter, I dare to propose, than the aftertaste of a potent concoction conjured by an amateur apothecary's apprentice, such as myself.

What man could have foreseen such a turn of events? The very heavens seemed to shine down upon me that night with more bold a song than I'd ever heard before. I thought when I looked out my window that very morning, an angelic procession streaming across the distant countryside, cloaked in candlelight and the mist of hopeful promise.

Yet I did not see a sharpness to her eyes when she turned me away. No, I saw the very light that I had seen that morning when I woke, a weak-hearted man in my bed. I followed her, I pursued her, I begged her, and still she fled from my shadow. To watch her run away from me again was devastating; to feel that I had no power left within me to stop her, even worse.

Oh, loyal irony, still stalking my every step! To see her beauty fade away into another dark, delicious night without my breath to echo hers...

Had she run from me with hollow eyes, I would not have felt such rage in my heart. But when she ran from me, I had seen her eyes overflowing with bright, unbridled longing. And that was why my comprehension failed me still.

I had only to assume that our fateful connection was too good to be true. I had tried in every way imaginable to convince her, apart from spilling the blood from my hands, but she only turned her ear away and refused me.

It was as the heavens would have it. She was too great a beauty for me.

Double the beauty in any God-given gift and thrice the beauty in any maiden who walked the Tuscan countryside.

Esme was unattainable to me.

I could not bear to leave the garden that night she left me. I lingered on for the rest of the dark hours alone, with the pitiful sliver of a hope in my heart that she might come back to me. But alas, she never did show her face before the sunrise.

It was with a broken and numb body that I watched the sun bend over the hills beyond, unable to feel any warmth from its rays.

All through the night I had exhausted myself with torturous thoughts, arguing my way through every possible reason as to why Esme would lead me along so passionately only to leave me again, drifting out at sea.

How could the woman who had saved me so heroically, abandon me so callously?

After some thinking about our time together, I had come to the dissatisfying but plausible conclusion that she must have been betrothed to another, yet her heart was not content with the match. I could sense it in the way she looked at me, spoke to me, held my hand. In her coldness I could feel a grand warmth, like a fire that had been encapsulated in a shield of ice. Those eyes were all but begging me to melt her...

I swelled with fury just thinking of the man whose love she had sealed by will or not. Perhaps he was ten times as rich and handsome as I, perhaps he even loved her truly in his heart as I love her. But I refused to believe that my Esme felt for him what she surely felt for me.

I knew love when I saw it. At the very least, I knew passion when I saw it.

Esme was filled with it.

One could gather all the artists and musicians and poets in Italy, and one would still not recreate the incongruous amount of passion that I had seen in Esme.

Yet she accused _me_ of being reckless in the realm of passion.

She was a hypocrite. Such a clever, confused, beautiful hypocrite.

I knew what I wanted, and I was not afraid of wanting it. Yet Esme feared so much - I could see it when she spoke to me. Even when she was in my presence, something about her always struck me as being incomplete, on the edge, tremulous. She was as composed as a painting, solid as a doll, born with the perfect symmetry of a star blossom - but on the inside, she was falling apart.

On the outside I was a stumbling vagabond whose pockets were always empty. But on the inside, I knew, I was certainly _not _falling apart.

We were opposite sides of a coin, but this meant we could not be together. For how, by the laws of science, may two sides of the same coin ever face one another?

-}0{-

There had been a time in my life where I harbored a secret fear of heights. Such a fear went against my bold and adventurous nature when I was a lad. I never told anyone of this fear, instead I suppressed it as a man, determined that no one would ever know.

The night I met Esme and she had taken me to the rooftop in the Piazza Navona, a small miracle occurred. Though frightened at first, I became immune to my fear of heights as I sat beside her, staring up at the bejeweled sky. It went against every fiber of my nature, but this woman had converted me in a most profound way. I now made a hobby of sitting on the rooftop of Eleazar's house each evening. Here on my perch I would watch the bustling town below. Sometimes I would write, other times I would just sit and think. Tonight I decided to sketch the scene on drawing paper.

The exhilarating view made me feel quietly powerful as I looked over the rest of the rooftops. There was a kingly color to the sky as the sun set over Rome. Even the clouds that hovered above me looked mighty and ancient, much like the ones depicted in old paintings of the era before Christ.

My pencil scratched restlessly across my paper as my eyes flickered between the sky and my lap. I stretched my neck to one side occasionally to critique my work from a new angle, and then I would erase and begin again.

I was so lost in my drawing that I missed the sound of someone else approaching my spot.

"Carlisle, what are you doing up here?"

I whipped my head around to find Irina, awkwardly hunched beside the chimney, her expression caught between unease and tentative delight. Apparently she had made her way up here through the window I had carelessly left open in my room.

"Just making some sketches," I answered sheepishly, moving to hide my collection of unfinished drawings from her view.

I watched in slight amusement as she scrambled shakily over the slope of the rooftop to join me at the safer side of the ledge. The wind flipped her fair blond hair into her face, and I reached over to hold her arm while she regained her balance. She gasped and laughed. A very hesitant smile crept onto my begrudgingly serious face.

I gave up trying to hide my sketches once she was seated beside me. Very close beside me.

"They're beautiful," she complimented, leaning closer so I would be forced to see her face as she said it.

"Thank you," I murmured, still not making eye contact. I covered the papers with my hand and tucked them between my knees.

We stared out at the golden hillside of rooftops for a while in silence. I enjoyed the lack of conversation while it lasted. My mind needed the time to sort through many thoughts, the most important of which was Esme.

Lord, she hurt to think about.

"You seem down lately," Irina remarked, startling me.

I shrugged and hid my face by pretending to rub my forehead.

"May I ask what is troubling you?" she pressed. Her hand found its way to my shoulder.

I sighed heavily, having anticipated her question. I was still not quite prepared for it. "I don't know. I can't explain what it is. I suppose I feel that...something is missing from my life. Something I thought I'd have found by now."

My voice sounded weaker than it ever had before. If my father were here, he would have reprimanded me for having no conviction when I spoke. A bitter smirk pulled at my lips as I thought about my father. I had failed him in so many ways. Not only was I apprenticing a man whose practices verged on white magic, but I was also chasing after a temptress when I should have been focused on settling down with a wife.

Irina's silence bothered me. She should have found something to say by now.

Curious, I looked to her. She stared back at me with her ice blue eyes, her face made twice as pretty in the regal glow of a Roman sunset.

"Maybe you _have_ found it," she whispered. I had to take a moment to link her words back to what I had said.

The moment it hit me, her lips were pressed to mine.

Her kiss was gentle, but it made me feel warm against my will. My body wanted to resist. My heart was still clinging to the fiery kisses Esme and I had shared in the Gardens of Lucullus so many nights ago.

This was not the same, but I could not deny that it felt good to be kissed again. There was some mysterious magic in a woman's lips that a man craved. On the most basic level, it didn't matter which woman made the offer. I found myself responding to Irina's kiss, despite my guilt.

She broke the kiss briefly to let out a long held breath against my skin, and that was when the stirrings began.

I wanted, so terribly, to love a woman tonight. Not just any woman, but a woman who wanted to love _me_ in return. I felt that Irina's love for me was intense, and that was dangerously appealing to me. I was especially vulnerable tonight, my heart still stinging from Esme's rejection. How fulfilling would it be to take a woman to bed with me tonight, to soothe the pain left behind by my failed romance with Esme?

Would Irina accept such a bold invitation? I almost feared that she would say yes if I dared to ask her...

Our lips parted again, and our breath rushed out together. When I opened my eyes, the gleaming golden city was gone, replaced by a city of pink and purple shadows. My mind had darkened along with the evening.

I saw the look in Irina's eyes - that look all men live and die for. That repressed shimmer of untouched lust in the gaze of a conservative, respectable woman. It could have been mine. She could have been mine. I only had to ask her.

But in the end, something stopped me.

"Good night, Carlisle," she whispered. The look never faded from her eyes even as she climbed down from the roof and went back into the house.

For a minute after she left, I sincerely wondered if she meant for me to follow her. If I went down through my window now, would she be waiting for me in my dark bedroom with the sleeves of her dress hanging off her pale shoulders, that same look of forbidden hunger in her eyes?

I gulped at the thought, almost scared as I climbed cautiously back down from the roof. I breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed that my room was empty.

My papers slipped from my hands and scattered on the floor. I shuffled through the charcoal snapshots of Rome as I made my way to my bed and surrendered to the aches in my body and heart.

Huddling under my quilt, I prepared for another dissatisfying night.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, this story is back on after a long hiatus! My apologies for the long wait. A re-read of the previous seven chapters may be necessary at this point. I won't lie, it was necessary even for me! Thanks to all those still following and reviewing this story. I do have a plan in place for where I'm taking this, and I promise it will get juicier from this point on. :)<strong>

**Mackenzie**


	9. Sweet Forgiveness

**Chapter 9:**

**Sweet Forgiveness**

* * *

><p>~Esme<p>

Nothing had been the same since the night I left Carlisle in the gardens.

I did not realize until it was too late just how intensely I was connected to this man. He was a kind of nourishment I could not deny. If being near him was like being under a spell, being away from him was full torture withdrawal. Deep in the night I found myself fantasizing about his kisses, how each one had been more thrilling than the last. I remembered the way he spoke to me in the fragrant shadows of the gardens, how the pulse of his heart had awakened forbidden longings inside of me, and how hot his blue eyes burned.

All my life I had been able to draw a mask over my emotions, but since I met Carlisle, my feelings were all but impossible to hide. I was in constant danger while living under the same roof as the rest of the Volturi. These were some of the cleverest vampires on earth; I could only fool them for so long while my behavior was clearly out of sorts. I started to pick up on their signals, the little signs that they were beginning to notice my moodiness and restlessness. I lived in terror that one of them would suddenly corner me in the dank halls of the stone castle and accuse me of my obsession.

I had not spoken a word of it to anyone, yet I couldn't continue this way. I needed to tell someone. And there was only one person I could trust.

It took quite a bit of coaxing to get Sulpicia away from the castle. She hardly ever left her tower unless it was to feed. Through some manipulative wording and several loving threats, I convinced her to follow me across the countryside one night to a place where no other curious ears could hear us.

Before she could even ask me what all of this was about, I began the conversation in the bluntest way imaginable.

"I have a problem."

She smirked, unsurprised thus far. "Is his name Felix?"

"I'm not talking about Felix."

Then, I saw curiosity creep into her moonlit red eyes. "Go on." She leaned delicately against a leafless tree, her cloak brushing against the wheatgrass.

I took a deep breath and lowered my voice. "Before I say anything more, I want you to know that I was not planning to tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. But I must tell _someone _or I fear I will go mad. You are the only person I trust enough to tell."

With that, Sulpicia stood tall and came over to stand beside me. One of her slender arms emerged from her dark cloak, and she reached out to place a comforting hand on mine. "You can tell me anything, Esme. And if you wish it so, I will not speak a word of it to anyone." Her words were firm, and I believed them. "Now, what is troubling you?"

My throat instantly tightened, as if warning me not to say.

I looked at the ground. "You will think me most terrible for it."

She smiled wryly and squeezed my hand. "Should that be the case, I assure you that I shall still love you in spite of it."

"I..." I attempted once again to spill my secret, but again the words died in my mouth.

Sulpicia leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with inquisition. I never recalled being so nervous to share a secret before in my life. I briefly warred with myself whether to blurt it out or to reveal it slowly. My heart chose for me.

"I am in love..."

All at once there was a gratified glow to Sulpicia's face; a happiness that I knew would certainly be dashed when I said my next words.

"...with a human."

I watched with heavy hopes as my fear came true before my eyes.

"A human?" She repeated the word in a whisper of fright, laced with revulsion.

"Yes," I confirmed, my frustration mounting as I processed the look of concern in her eyes. "Yes! And God damn me to hell for it!" My shout echoed over the wheat field, making the grass tremble and the moon shrink. I nearly ripped through my dress in my anger.

Sulpicia leaned over my hunched and shaking body, smoothing my hair away from my face. "Esme, my darling, how can this be?"

"How? Oh, how does the moon hold itself above the earth?" I whimpered and fell to the ground, crushing the wheatgrass and sending up a flourish of sandy grain that sparkled in the moonlight. As I stared directly at that full moon, my eyes instead saw _his _exquisite face staring back at me, luminous with hope and passion. "How can I love this man? This man with flesh and blood and a beating heart?"

I was surprised to see the graceful and formal Sulpicia fall to her knees beside me in the grass. She grabbed my wrist in earnest and spoke urgently to me. "You're certain you are not mistaking your feelings of bloodlust for something more?"

"No, Lord, no!" I shook my head fiercely, getting my hair tangled in the grass. "I have known bloodlust all my life, yet I've never felt _this _before." I slammed both my hands into the center of my chest to emphasize the feeling as I struggled to describe it. "Something so strong and so unforgiving it feels as if my heart is being torn out of my chest every time I look at him!"

The next time Sulpicia spoke, she sounded even more breathless and worried. "Have you spoken to him, Esme?"

I let out a hysterical, high-pitched laugh. "Spoken to him! Touched him! Kissed him!" As I shouted my final transgression into the night, I clearly heard Sulpicia's gasp of horror.

"And yet I still _want_ him in every way imaginable!" I barreled on, overcome by my own personal madness. "I want to own him, to drink his blood...to make love to him!" I felt the grass rustle like hot tinder beneath my back as I voiced my deepest desires.

"This is dangerous." Sulpicia's voice was no longer panicked and rushed, but hard and grave.

I scoffed at her understatement. "This is suicide!"

She bit her lip, looking more concerned than I'd ever seen her before. "It is true our kind would not look softly on you for it. My own mate would consider it an abomination."

The fact that she did not hesitate before saying this made me even more nervous. I gulped just thinking of what Aro would do to me if he found out.

"I will not say anything to him," Sulpicia promised hastily before I could ask. "And I would never encourage anyone else to pursue such a love. But for you, Esme..."

I bolted upright at her wispy words. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, if _you _believe in your own heart, you will fight to make this man yours."

I shook my head twice, unconvinced that I had just heard these words coming from Sulpicia's lips. Had the wife of the Volturi master really just given me permission to love and pursue a human man?

For the sake of argument, I had to deny her. "But I would be defying everything your people have taught me!"

She shook her head at me. "Esme, not one of us has ever said that love between a vampire and a human is impossible. We all know that it exists. We all acknowledge that it is a very real danger. That is precisely why there is such fear surrounding it."

"Yet you are telling _me_ to pursue it?"

"You are different from the rest of us, Esme. You always have been. I want you to embrace your wild heart. If this young man has such power over you, then you must claim him as your own no matter what it takes!"

True terror seized me as her words sunk in. "We both know that we cannot keep this a secret forever," I said gravely.

"That is true," Sulpicia agreed, her eagerness mellowed by the onset of reality. "My Aro will be furious with you when he finds out."

"Can we make him understand?" I asked desperately.

"Only time will tell, my dear." She smoothed my hair with a patient smile and kissed my temple. "For now, follow your heart. Love knows no boundaries!"

Her encouraging exclamation only weakened my resolve. "But I have already made a terrible mistake," I admitted dismally.

"What do you mean?"

"I abandoned him - without so much as an explanation. I was afraid of what I might do to him if I stayed with him any longer." My head fell into my hands. "Sulpicia, I put him in danger every time I stand beside him!"

"Esme, your sanity is in danger the longer you stay away from him. Take my word for it. You must go back to him."

"But how? How can I earn his forgiveness?"

"Perhaps a gift of some kind?" she supplied helpfully. "What does he like?"

I paused to think, only to be overcome with sadness that I didn't know the answer to her question. I knew that he liked the sea, and medicine, and helping others. But I couldn't very well buy him a ship, and anything to do with medicine surely wouldn't make a romantic gift.

"I don't know," I sighed in resignation.

"Then you'll just have to start with something every human man likes," she said with a mischievous smile. "Food."

-}0{-

How Sulpicia knew so well the greatest weakness of human men, I'd never guess. But I took her advice to heart and made my first trip to Pisa the very next morning. There I bartered and bantered with the best Italian chefs. My nose was tickled by the strange scents of oregano, dill, basil, and tomato. I was an utter stranger to such ingredients, but I was eager to learn how to use them if it meant creating something that could win Carlisle back.

Finding young chefs to help me in my noble mission was no difficult chore. These men of the kitchen were more than happy to teach a curious and beautiful woman how to bake a loaf of bread, no matter how long it took.

Needless to say, even without a language barrier, I was lost when it came to the art of baking. I spent hours in several different kitchens, surrounded by laughing Italians, with whom I flirted shamelessly when necessary. I worked hard to learn the chemistry of yeast and flour and water. It was a process that seemed to come so naturally to these dark haired young men and women, but to me, it was and always had been foreign. I didn't care how much I humiliated myself or how many men I had to charm to steal ingredients from. I was determined to learn how to bake.

I went drifting through the market in search of the right ingredients, offering poorly written lists to the vendors in the street who could help me find them. There were no wood fire ovens anywhere to be found in Volterra, so I had to do some trespassing to gain access to one. Working with fire frightened me, but I found the danger thrilling. Nothing was going to stop me from baking a perfect loaf of bread on my own.

As I'd expected, my first three attempts were unsuccessful. Unable to judge the taste for myself, I had various townspeople tell me what they thought of my crusty concoctions. Too salty, too burnt, too bitter. It seemed I couldn't offer a slice of my homemade bread to any human without her face scrunching up in disgust, or her tongue sputtering in revulsion. But with every failure I learned something new.

I worked hastily, but carefully, to make Carlisle's gift. I swiped ingredients from unlocked bakeries and searched high and low for unoccupied kitchens. Twenty-four times I attempted to recreate the magic I'd seen in Pisa, but it wasn't until the twenty-fifth time that I pulled something remotely magical from the fire.

It was gleaming and golden brown, and it had not a speck of black carbon to spoil it. It was the perfection I had pined for - in appearance at least. I only needed someone to test its taste.

This time, the town folk were eager to try what I offered. Once one person's eyes lit up at their first bite, the others gathered around, their hands reaching for a piece. Children licked their fingers and begged for more. Seasoned old women who had spent years in their kitchens hounded me for the recipe. And the men. The men were swooning.

Ecstatic with my success, I rushed back to the kitchen to recreate my miracle bread. Thanks to my perfect memory, I was able to conjure it out of the fire one more time. Remembering how Carlisle had devoured the sweet bread on First Night, I decided to do something special. On a whim, I glazed the loaf of bread with honey and let it sit on a hot plate before wrapping it up and hiding it inside a covered basket.

Now for the real test.

Evening had fallen by the time I reached that quaint little side of the city where Carlisle took up residence with the apothecary. It seemed so long ago that I walked this street by his side, but every night I secretly walked here in my fantasies. Even the shadows seemed pretty. Everything looked pretty when I was close to Carlisle.

I felt my heart sink a little when I thought back to our last encounter. Indeed, the Gardens of Lucullus had looked breathtaking before I met him there. But with Carlisle's brilliant presence to brighten them, those gardens could have been a sublevel of heaven. I was foolish for abandoning him. But I was also foolish for becoming involved with him in the first place. I had no right to intervene in the life of such an innocent man. I brought danger with me everywhere I went. Yet he saw me with pure and worshipful eyes. He thought I was his saving grace. And by God, I adored being someone's saving grace for a change. Even if it was just an illusion.

When the familiar facade of the apothecary's home came into sight, I stopped on the street corner, suddenly nervous and scared to speak to him again. As the one who had driven him away, it hurt my pride deeply to be seeking his forgiveness. But as much as it hurt, I knew it had to be done.

I took a deep breath, welcoming the tempting perfume of his blood - unmistakable in the cool evening air. My chest tightened and my legs carried me forward. I clutched my basket of bread tighter, as if it could protect me. When I reached the door, I stood for a moment in silence, listening for voices inside. I heard none.

I wanted so terribly to just leave the basket on his doorstep and run back to Volterra, but the waves of his intoxicating scent enticed me to knock on the door.

There was no answer at first. Not even a stirring to be heard deep inside the house. Perhaps he was asleep. I felt a pang of guilt that I might have been interrupting his rest.

I winced, closed my eyes, and knocked again. I don't know why I did it. I wasn't planning on waiting for an answer this time, so I turned around, ready to dart away into the dark street, when a faint gleam of shielded light spilled onto the ground from behind me.

I whipped around at the sound of the door creaking open. And there he stood, tall and weary, clutching a candle in his right hand, his long white sleep shirt barely hanging onto him - a rugged, exhausted beauty.

His eyes squeezed shut, then widened in bright blue bewilderment as he brought the candle up to cast more light on his face. His expression of disbelief was not surprising to me - in fact, I was sure he must have thought he was dreaming. But I knew how I was going to convince him that I was real.

Without a thought, I smiled my signature smile, knowing the sight of my face would be ever more striking under the ethereal light of his candle. The only disadvantage was that I could not so easily read his expression now that the candle was flickering between us. Was he shocked to see me, or was he offended that I had enough gall to come back? Or was it a bit of both?

"You're here?" he whispered, his voice feathered by recent slumber.

I nodded and grinned at him hopefully, almost able to feel the weight of sympathy in my own eyes.

He looked me up and down, his lips still open in astonishment. "Why...? _Why _are you here?"

"I've come to apologize." It took a lot for me to say the words, even with Carlisle looking as vulnerable and lovely as he did in his bed clothes and his bare feet.

He shook his head and leaned slightly closer to me. My throat flamed at the screaming scent of his blood. I hadn't been this near to him in such a long time. I needed to readjust. I held my breath before continuing, "It's been nearly three weeks since the night we met in the gardens, and all I have done since then is regret having left you behind."

He frowned at the memory of that night I so cruelly ran away from him. We'd made a promise to each other, and he'd kept true to it. He'd stripped himself bare and shared with me his innermost passions and feelings. And I had trampled them all.

"I know that I hurt you, Carlisle. I don't expect you to ever fully trust me again. Maybe I don't even deserve that," I murmured. "But I do hope that you will accept my apology and that I will have your forgiveness."

"You come to me at this ungodly hour to ask my forgiveness?" Before I could defend myself against his question, his fingers had somehow found their way to my cheek. He stroked my skin delicately and sighed. "Dear Lord, I must wake from this dream."

I smiled sadly to myself, at once realizing how much I'd missed him. His touch, his scent, the sorts of things he said...

"You are not dreaming, Carlisle," I whispered to him. "I am really here." I laced our fingers together, hoping to confirm my realness.

To my dismay, he simply stared back at me, unfazed and unconvinced. So I kissed him.

My body was not ready for the seizing sensation of his lips against mine. I hadn't anticipated the overbearing rush of violent pleasure that shot through me from our contact. I found it astonishing how pure and deep and gripping our connection was. _How could I have forgotten this? _My heart sighed as I slipped my fingers into his long blond hair and pressed myself against him.

He reeled into my kiss like a fish into a gilded net. I was in control, but he was more than complacent. This close, I could feel the fatigue in his body, contrasted by the renewed fire of longing in his stomach. He was still torn between the demands of his heart and his mind.

A soft moan escaped his throat just before I pulled away, my hands pressed firmly to his chest. The beat of his heart was explosive, and his face was rosier than a Parisian flower garden.

"Now will you please let me come inside?" I begged, barely hiding my desperation.

He all but dragged me into the cramp entryway, pushing the door shut behind us. A spark of curiosity lit his eyes, even in the shadow. "I don't understand, Esme. You were so insistent that I never see you again. What made you change your mind?"

My mouth opened to reply, but I stopped myself, painfully reminded of the fact that he still did not know my secret. He stared back at me in the dark room, looking more vulnerable than I'd ever seen him. His eyes were tired yet honest, twinkling above soft violet circles that had formed after several sleepless nights. I did not know how I could continue to stare into this man's eyes and manage to hide the true nature of my existence from him. Just meeting his gaze put me in danger of spilling everything. I _wanted _to tell him my secret, so badly, in a way I'd never wanted to tell anyone before...

I decided the least I could do was share a bit of the truth with him. He deserved that, I thought. He at least deserved to know the reason why I'd come back to him.

"I spoke about our encounter with a friend," I explained, wringing my hands nervously as I clutched my basket of bread. "She made me realize that I had found something special when I met you. And I was a fool to throw it all away." My voice fell quiet on the last part; it still hurt my pride to admit it. But it was a good kind of pain. A very good kind.

I saw tendrils of relief in Carlisle's eyes, but confusion etched into his brow. "You were frightened of me," he said, stunning me with such a forward statement. "I could see that you were. But it made no sense to me. Had I done something to drive you away?"

"No," I half-lied. "No, Carlisle. You've done nothing wrong." I paused for a moment and stared deeply into his innocent, inquisitive face. A strange longing filled my heart. "It was...your passion. I suppose it was your passion that had frightened me."

Though the light of the candle could be deceiving, I swore I could see a flash of fleeting pleasure in his eyes as I revealed this.

"Then I think it fair to tell you that my passion has not waned." His honest and gentle warning made my entire body flush. "Have your feelings truly changed?" he asked warily.

I nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe they have."

He hesitantly moistened his lips, and I suddenly remembered the bread I'd brought for him.

"Will you allow me to prove my sincerity?" I teased, holding up the basket. His eyes turned curious as he noticed it for the first time.

He extended his hand slowly toward it, fingers stirring the air to indicate his interest. "What's inside this basket?"

"A gift," I said cryptically.

Without using any words, his eyes asked perfectly and coherently, _"For me?"_

I nodded encouragingly and guided him to sit down at the small table by the window. Standing by his chair, I tipped open the top of the wicker basket for him to look inside. He blinked without a visible reaction, and I quickly remembered that his eyes were not as keen as mine to see so clearly in the dark. So I reached inside and pulled out the glistening mound of honey bread.

"I made it for you."

His already compassionate expression softened even further, making him look almost sleepy with appreciation. But when he looked at the bread, his blue eyes sparkled in a way that reminded me of lust.

Slowly, I broke a soft piece of the bread off with my fingers and held it out for him to take. When he did not reach for it, I forced it gently into his hand and then raised his hand up to his mouth, like a mother teaching her child how to eat.

He hesitated at first, but when our eyes met and he saw the loving threat in my gaze, he opened his mouth and let the bread touch his lips. His eyes closed as he savored his first taste, but they fluttered open a moment later, pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of the honey I'd added.

I watched intently as he chewed and swallowed the small piece I'd offered him. When he was finished, he stared longingly at the rest of the loaf in my hand.

"How does it taste?" I asked him with a knowing smile.

"Divine," he whispered back.

I resisted the urge to gloat about my recently discovered baking talent and instead offered him another piece.

Watching his enjoyment made me long to feel the sensation of hunger again, and it fascinated me that he could find such satisfaction from such a little piece of bread. I was captivated by the way his lips moved so sensually, and the way his throat rippled when he swallowed.

I fetched him a goblet of water before settling down at the table next to him.

"Can I assume this means that you accept my apology?"

He nodded, smiling at me while he finished licking the sweet residue off his fingers.

"I've yet to hear you say the words," I hinted quietly. His attention was all mine, but I was distracted by the honey still glistening on his lips as he spoke.

"I forgive you, Esme."

Relief poured into me like sunlight into a dark forest. Just those four words had made me whole again. I wanted to climb onto the roof with him right now and sing my joy into the night. I smiled at the thought, realizing I would risk waking all of Rome to do so.

"Thank you."

"No," he shook his head slowly, leaning closer to me, his blue eyes crystal clear by the light of the blinking candle. "Thank _you _for coming back..."

I sat back in my chair, completely defenseless as he bent closer and closer to me, his gaze very obviously pursuing my lips. He had me trapped.

I closed my eyes and felt a wave of tension enter my body as his irresistible scent overpowered me. My breath caught when his lips touched mine with a hungry yet gentle strength.

The honey that lingered on his lips was sticky and sweet in a way that almost reminded me of blood, only the taste was much less pleasant. It was not at all appealing for a vampire, yet I couldn't help but enjoy the sensation of the way our lips clung and slipped against each other. His hand reached out to wrap around the back of my neck, drawing me closer and making me warmer. I leaned further into him, relishing the intensity of his breath and his heartbeat, and loving the rough caress of golden stubble that was beginning to grow along his jaw.

"So you've decided to let yourself be seduced by destiny?" he asked in his husky voice, sliding his fingers reverently across my lips.

I huddled against his warm neck and hid my smile as I nodded. Secretly I knew that destiny was not the only thing that was seducing me now.

* * *

><p><strong>Next time we will see how Carlisle feels about Esme's unexpected return!<strong>

** Thanks for reading! I'd love your feedback. :)**


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